No Bandage or Words
by MidnightBlast
Summary: As governess to the Hays' daughter, Lydia Marsden never expected anything grand to happen in her life. Everything changes when the maiden voyage of Titanic falls upon the family, and she finds herself completely drawn to the First Officer.
1. Thursday, April 10th

**No Bandage or Words **

"_When anyone asks__me how I can best describe my experiences in nearly forty years at sea, I merely say, uneventful. Of course there have been winter gales, and storms and fog and the like, but in all my experience I have never been in any accident of any sort worth speaking about. I never saw a wreck and have never been wrecked, nor was I ever in any predicament that threatened to end in disaster of any sort….Modern shipbuilding has gone beyond that." –Edward J. Smith _

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Thursday, April 10<strong>**th**

—11:17 am—

Lydia did her best not to sneeze, squinting in the bright morning light as she gazed at the ship. After weeks of hearing of little else, the day had finally arrived. The maiden voyage of _Titanic_ was upon them and the Hayses had exclusive first class tickets. It had been the talk of society and newspapers for months. But as governess to the little Hays girl, Lydia had been unsure of her invite until a week ago.

Governesses were a dime a dozen, and Lydia knew the Hays could secure one easily upon arrival in New York. They had no obligation to pay her way across the Atlantic. Yet when they presented her with a ticket and instructions to oversee Emily's preparations for the trip, Lydia had been immensely relieved. The Hays' had been most gracious to take her in for the position four years ago, and Lydia wasn't sure what she would do if they dismissed her now.

Secretly, Lydia was giddy to see the _Titanic_ up close. She always strained her ears whenever talk of the ship's appointments dominated the conversation. Her father had designed ships for a living, always making an effort to point out the refinements and trappings to his only daughter. Lydia almost regretted she hadn't paid more attention when she was younger. It was only after her parents' death that she had taken to books to relearn all that her father had showed her over the years.

But from what Lydia was seeing out the car window, all the news clippings and fragmented conversations of the past weeks paled in comparison. The _Titanic_ was truly remarkable from stem to stern, shining and bright in the Southampton morning sun. She couldn't help the smile on her face as the car came to a gentle stop in the crowded thoroughfare, and she started to gather the few parcels in her care.

"You have Miss Emily's things in order?" Ms. Ann, Mrs. Hays' long time house keeper, maid and servant squinted at Lydia over her birdlike nose.

"Of course Ms. Ann, with her coat on top in case the harbor breeze bothers her."

"Good girl. Mrs. Hays would expect nothing less." The car door clicked open, ushering in the busy cacophony of the harbor, the smell of salty air.

"Ms. Ann?" Gregory Sinclair, Mr. Hay's man, held his hand for the elderly though spry woman as she crawled out from the backseat. Lydia followed, her eyes narrowing to a squint as she shifted her parcels.

"Quite somethin' eh?" Gregory's thick Scottish brogue had always been pleasant to the ear.

"Quite." She drew in her smile to glance around at the crowd with pursed lips. She felt a tickle creep to her nose, the early warnings of a sneezing fit, longing for her tinted glasses. Eventually her eyes settled on the car in front of her, where Proctor was conversing with Mr. Charles Hays while holding his hand out for other occupants in the car.

Mrs. Clara Hays, resplendent for a woman her age and size, in an impeccable forest green gown and wide brimmed matching hat, complete with lace bow, emerged from the vehicle. She looked as pleasantly proud as ever, slipping her arm around her husband's, taking in the sights before turning to her servant.

"Ms. Ann, is everything in order?" She called out cooingly, gently waving a hand in the air.

"But of course ma'am," Ann rigidly answered, eyes flitting to Lydia for the briefest of moments, "nothing is amiss to ruin your day."

"Simply splendid." Mrs. Hays' smile widened on her words as Lydia kept her guarded expression frozen, observing around the harbor, not paying the exchange of servant and mistress any mind. Ms. Ann had overseen every aspect of the Hays household until Lydia was brought on board to help manage the daughter, Emily. Lydia was all too aware Ann perceived her as a threat and worked doubly hard to prove her worth to the Hayses. However, if it came down to the Hayses keeping Lydia or Ann, she knew Ann would always win.

"Lydia?" She snapped from her thoughts, eyes locking to Ann's. "Don't dawdle now. You'll ruin the big day." Silently, Lydia fell into step behind Ann and Gregory, eyes involuntarily meeting the third occupant of the Hays' car.

Due to her last minute invitation, Lydia was not prepared for so much time around Jonathon Hays. He was equal to her in age, and never failed to turn her head. He was every bit handsome, from his perfectly coiffed hair to mesmerizing chocolate eyes, and his exquisitely tailored suits cut his body in sharp, fine lines that Lydia couldn't ignore. She kicked herself mentally for not better steeling her mind against his charms. She didn't need to be caught fawning over her employer's son.

His attention, for the moment, was directed to the fourth occupant of the car. Miss Emily herself emerged in the bright sun, a displeased smile on her face.

"It smells." She near whined, looking around almost disgusted.

"Oh a little bracing sea air will do wonders for you," Jonathon's smooth tenor tone reached Lydia's ears, "that's the scent of fish, sea, and adventure, Em."

"Jonathon," Mrs. Hays' scolding voice cut through the din, "how many times must I tell you, your sister's name is Emily. Your shortened version is downright vile."

"But of course," the younger Hays man dutifully answered, "I apologize for the slip of my tongue, mother."

"Jonathon," Mr. Hays suddenly appeared, something of a stern look to his face, "I'd hate to think it is you delaying our boarding." Mrs. Hays replaced her arm around her husband's and they sauntered on towards the first class gangway.

"Come on Lydia!" Emily urged, her brother momentarily forgotten as she brushed over to Lydia's side. She smiled as Emily slipped her hand in her free one, looking up to unexpectedly meet Jonathon's crisp green eyes.

"Why Lydia, how lovely to see you again." He flashed her a knee-weakening smile as she kept her own guarded, acknowledging his comment with a polite nod of her head.

"And you, Mr. Hays. It has been some time."

"How many times must I remind you, Lydia, its Jonathon." He implored, casting a quick glance towards his parents and their loyal servants moving through the crowd, recognizing the need to follow.

"Please sir, after you." Lydia said with a nod to Jonathon, holding back the child.

"Nonsense, after you." He stepped aside with a gentle sweep of his arm.

"No sir, please." She met his surprised smile with a firm nod.

"If you insist." His words followed with a tip of his head before moving to follow his parents. Lydia fell into step with Emily close to her side.

"Can we go on deck Lydia? Please! I want to see everyone!" Emily bounced in her steps, eyes wide with excitement.

"Once we board, I will most certainly ask your parents," Lydia cast a promising smile down to Emily, "I should most like to go topside as well."

"Young man! You—sailor! You should see to having the gangway fixed. My wife here nearly broke her ankle on that step." Mr. Charles Hays was scolding a terrified young man in uniform by the time Lydia caught up. She sent the young man an apologetic smile as he helped her cross up the step to the first class gangway, not finding it as life threatening as Mr. Hays played it up to be. But Lydia knew the Hayses to have little tolerance for imperfection, and even the smallest of inconveniences became great dramas.

Her eyes settled once again to the magnificent ship as she neared it. The smile on her face grew, looking forward to having six days in which to explore the _Titanic_. Not that she as a passenger could get very far without getting into some sort of trouble though. And her role as governess would occupy most of her time, but Lydia vowed to spend her free time studying the ship as much as she was able. She knew it made her father smile from his cloud in heaven, while her mother looked on with a disapproving, though loving smile. Lydia usually made a point not to think about her parents, still missing them dearly even fifteen years later, but ships had always brought back a torrent of memories.

"My dress itches." The child's offhand comment stole Lydia's attention as they crossed the gangway setting foot in the first class boarding hallway.

"You have never said such things about this dress before Emily."

"But I'm all hot and sticky. It makes my dress itch." The breeze had died as they worked their way through the hot crowd, and even Lydia had to confess to being a bit uncomfortably warm. But her long, slim fitting black dress was a stark contrast to the light blue lace of the little girl's at her side.

"We'll go topside once we visit the stateroom and catch a nice cool breeze off the ocean."

"The ocean!" The little girl squealed over the quiet conversation of the officers and Mr. Hays as tickets were produced and checked. "I'll finally get to see the ocean, Lydia!"

"Emily, lower your voice please. And of course you'll get to see the ocean. This will be your first trip across the ocean."

"We'll get to come back?" Emily's face quirked in confusion as she walked with Lydia through a bright white hallway.

"I'm sure you will come back. England will always be your home. We're just visiting New York for the season." As simple as it sounded, Lydia couldn't help but wonder just how long they really would be stateside. Either way, the voyage over certainly promised a return trip home eventually, and Lydia could only hope the Hayses would again choose the _Titanic._ For just at first glance, she was every bit as marvelous as Lydia had read, and the excitement in the air, tinged with fresh wood oil and paint, certainly promised to make it a voyage to remember.

—2:38 pm—

Mercifully, the sun had retreated behind a welcome cloud. Lydia knew it wouldn't last, but it was certainly pleasant now as they stood on the deck.

"Bye-bye England!" Emily stuck her small arm through the railing, waving at the shrinking harbor.

Yes, bye-bye England indeed. Lydia told herself she was indifferent to such a trip. After her parents died, her selfish grandmother dumped her in a charity school for girls and never returned. She remembered having an aunt, maybe an uncle, but she didn't even know their names to claim them as family. Having no family or friends to leave behind made it seem easier for her to just leave for so long. But would she still miss home nonetheless?

"Having second thought?" She turned towards the warm voice, holding back a smile. "It's a long swim back to Southampton."

"No sir, Mr. Hays," she let her eyes settle to Jonathon's as Emily hugged his knee, "no second thoughts."

"But it has to be different for you. My parents and I chose this trip. But as a servant, you weren't given a choice."

"That's usually the way of it, sir." She turned back to overlook the water, trying not to dwell on the truth that was her life.

"Jonathon, can we go play?" Emily's voice cut through Lydia's thoughts.

"If Miss Lydia approves, Em." She felt Jonathon's eyes settle to her before turning back to face him.

"Miss Emily has her studies to attend to shortly, sir. I would request you leave her in my care, but I will defer should you wish to entertain her."

"I'm sorry my dear sister, but Lydia advises your schooling's more important."

"No Lydia, I want to play!" Emily whined, clinging harder to Jonathon's leg.

"Emily, you know your studies are every afternoon. You can play afterwards."

"But I want to play now." The child pouted, Jonathon lowering a hand to rest on her head.

"I will be ready and waiting the minute Lydia releases you, Em." He reassured her.

"You promise?" Her green eyes widened with excited hope as she looked up at him.

"Of course." The sun moved out from behind the cloud on his words, Lydia's face scrunching to a squint, her nose wrinkling.

"Lydia, are you alright?" Jonathon looked at her curiously, as her face evened out, nose still twitching as she raised a hand to brush at it. "You look like you're about to sneeze."

"I feel like I might sir."

"Well that would be exciting." She forgot all about the tickle in her nose, turning to him with a startled, unsure look.

"I don't think so sir."

"It would be the most unguarded I have ever seen you." His eyes, locked to hers, sent a shiver racing down her spine, threatening her composure.

"And why should you care about that sir?"

"Jonathon, remember?"

"I do, yes." Her heart started racing as his smile widened, feeling her cheeks flush, wanting nothing more than to shrink away from him.

"Just say it Lydia." His voice softened, the words a tender request, watching her steadily hold his gaze despite her unease.

"Jonathon." The name was smooth on her tongue, a small smile coming to her face.

"Thank you Lydia. We'll have to work on that." He turned from her down to his sister, his smile never faltering. "And I shall see you soon, my sweet Em."

"Don't you dare forget!" She instructed, letting go her brother's leg as she took a step back.

"I wouldn't dream of it sister dear," he bent in a slight bow before righting, "adieu ladies." He touched the brim of his hat in farewell before turning and continuing his stroll. Lydia let go the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. No exchange with Jonathon Hays had ever flustered her so, nor had he ever so pushed her use of his first name. She felt downright scandalous addressing him—a gentlemen and her employer's son no less—so informally in public. A silent laugh bubbled up in her throat, quickly biting her lip to hold back her smile at the liberating feeling.

"Why don't you call him Jonathon? I call you Lydia." Emily asked quietly, curiously.

"It is not my job to associate with your bother on such an informal level. My job is to tend to you and your studies." Lydia turned her attention down to the girl, enclosing her small hand in hers as they started across the deck. "Which the sooner we get started, the sooner you can meet your brother again."

"But that's not soon enough," Emily's voice threatened a whine, "I still wanna play."

"And you will in time. Lower you voice Emily." Lydia's voice held a scolding edge as they neared the lounge.

"But I wanna play now!" She jerked against Lydia's handhold, pulling away and crashing into a passing man in a black suit.

"Oh! Oh excuse me, sir. Emily!" Lydia hissed, turning a sharp glare down to her charge.

"It's quite alright, ladies. No harm done." The man was obviously a member of the ship's crew in his crisp uniform, a slight Scottish lilt on his voice, sharp blue eyes peering out from beneath the brim of his hat.

"Emily, what do you say to Mr.…?" Lydia trailed off, looking to the man curiously.

"Murdoch. William Murdoch." She gave a small nod of her head, her smile unwittingly growing as she met his eyes straight on. Quickly she snapped from him, down to the pout wrinkling Emily Hays' face

"Emily, you owe Mr. Murdoch an apology." Lydia's voice lost its cordial edge, reverting to that of a teacher.

"I'm sorry sir." The child's voice held no remorse as she forced the words together, glaring up at him over perfectly crinkled eyebrows.

"Apology accepted Miss Emily," Murdoch fixed her with a small smile, "though if I may, what has happened to make you so upset this afternoon?"

"I want to play. Lydia's not letting me. She's making me go inside to learn."

"Your studies are a noble endeavor, Miss Emily. You shouldn't be so quick to discount your guardian's plans."

"I am merely a governess, sir," Lydia quickly corrected, "servant to all, yourself included."

"On the contrary, Miss—?" He paused for her to supply her name.

"Marsden. Lydia Marsden."

"On the contrary Miss Marsden, my capacity as first officer is not only to serve the ship but her passengers as well, yourself included." He watched her eyes light up with excited curiosity, her face maintaining its reserved smile.

"Are you really the first officer?"

"Indeed miss." He inclined his head politely, biting back a more scathing comment. "At your service."

"If you could spare a moment sir? I read in the papers a while back that the mattresses onboard _Titanic_'s sister ship _Olympic_ were deemed too soft because the engine vibrations could be felt through them. So is it true the _Titanic_'s mattresses are firmer to prevent that discomfort?" A soft chuckle escaped Murdoch, surprised to find himself so drawn in by this woman's question and restrained enthusiasm.

"Wherever did you hear such a thing?" He asked, chiding himself for the amusement that laced his words.

"I believe the paper quoted J.B. Ismay."

"But of course. This ship belongs to Mr. Ismay's company and no expense was spared to make her the floating palace she is. As such, I do not doubt the mattresses onboard are the finest available to reduce vibrations, though I must say from my time on _Olympic_, I noted no such discomfort."

"But as an officer, sir, I would wager you are more accustomed to the motions of an underway ship than the casual passenger." Lydia broke from his small smile, glancing down to Emily who stood quietly as if grateful for the delay of her studies. "Well I find the appointments of this ship to be most fascinating, and I look forward to learning more over the voyage. Thank you for your time Mr. Murdoch. I hope I have not kept you from your duties."

"Not at all Miss Marsden. Assisting passengers is part of the job. I wonder if you would be interested in a tour of the ship perhaps later?"

"Would I?" Her smile widened on her words before she instantly dropped her gaze to her charge. "I would—." Murdoch couldn't help the surprising pang of disappointment as her smile fell away, face resuming the neutral look from earlier. "I would indeed enjoy it, sir, but for the moment I have my charge to consider."

"And I, my rounds to finish miss. Perhaps if you could join me later?" He couldn't believe he was pressing the matter. But something in her brief smile made him want to see more, despite his better judgment.

"It would be my pleasure, sir," she said quietly, with a small nod of her head, "Miss Emily here takes tea with her mother over the four o'clock hour, if you would be available."

"Splendid. Shall l meet you atop the Grand Staircase then?"

"I look forward to it sir."

"As do I miss," he allowed a quick smile to flash across his features with a bow of his head before settling on the little girl holding Lydia's hand, "good day Miss Emily." He tipped his head with a salute to his hat brim before continuing his straight, purposeful walk along the deck.

"Is he going to kiss you?" Lydia instantly felt her cheeks flush as Emily's question stole her attention away from the svelte officer.

"Gentlemen do not go around just kissing ladies, Emily." Lydia attempted to scold, but found herself flustered by such a question.

"He said this was a palace and princes always kiss the princess." Emily said dreamily.

"And am I a princess?" Emily quirked her lips in thought.

"Well he looks like a prince." An image of Officer Murdoch sprung unbidden to Lydia's mind—his smart eyes, pleasant smile, pressed uniform with gleaming brass buttons—making her unaware of the smile growing on her face.

"Yes he does."


	2. Thursday, April 10th cont

**AN: Thank you so much for the kind words and warm reception-its so heartwarming! I have been brewing a **_**Titanic**_** story for years, and finally have a version I am pleased with. Unfortunately, time between chapter posts will vary and be somewhat random as I don't want to post a chapter that doesn't attempt to do some justice to the romantic ship and tragic disaster. I hope future chapters do not disappoint, but if they do, feel free to let me know. **

**I do not own anything **_**Titanic**_** related, and I thoroughly credit Brad Matsen's novel "_Titanic_'s Last Secrets" for giving me a technical and historical basis such that I feel competent enough to write about the **_**Titanic **_**as a character. But try as I might, some elements of history have been tweaked to suit my purposes, and it is fiction, so while some aspects may not be entirely believable, I hope they are not glaring enough to deter from the story.**

**I hope you enjoy the journey, and thank you again for your support! **

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><p>"<em>Thomas Andrews knew <em>Titanic_ inside and out, her every turn and art, the power and beauty of her, from keel to truck, knew her down to her last rivet." – Shan Bullock, A _Titanic_ Hero, 1912 _

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Thursday, April 10<strong>**th**** (cont.) **

—4:01 pm—

Nervous knots clinched in her stomach as she left the lounge. Up until now, she hadn't given her afternoon meeting with the first officer any more thought. But now that she was here, minutes from meeting him, she couldn't believe she was actually doing something she wanted. For once, no one was giving her a command or a duty. For once she was just indulging her interests, enjoying herself.

She gathered her skirt loosely in hand, crossing up the magnificent staircase, wondering how much differently her life would have turned out were her parents still alive. Would she be a passenger of comfort, able to afford all the luxuries of time? She reached the top, taking a moment to glance up at the brilliant glass dome, marveling at the ornate wrought ironwork. Lowering her gaze, she instantly settled on the official form of Mr. Murdoch. He met her eyes with a polite smile and tip of his head from his location at the bottom of the stairs.

Biting back an embarrassed smile, she moved back to the stairs, holding her skirt to avoid tripping as she descended. His pleasant smile lingered, clasping his gloved hands behind his back as he moved to meet her.

"Good afternoon Miss Marsden."

"Good afternoon to you too sir. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. The dome caught my attention." She watched him cast a quick glance upwards.

"It is quite stunning. Some would say every aspect of this ship is to be admired."

"I'm inclined to agree so far and our tour hasn't yet begun."

"Well without further ado, we'll start on the Boat Deck and work our way down if that is agreeable?" She nodded with a small smile, meeting his eyes.

"Sounds splendid sir. Please lead the way." He extended a hand towards the stairs guiding her back up.

"I apologize that you came all the way downstairs." He said quietly as they ascended.

"It's no trouble sir," she reassured him as they crossed out onto the deck, doing her best to ignore the bright light, "I am simply glad to have time of my own to spend as I choose."

"Then I shall do my best to prove myself worthy of your time." He flashed her a quick smile as he opened a door on the deck just aft of the first class entrance. Her smile widened as she glanced around among the various pieces of gym equipment.

"As you may already be aware," Murdoch's voice took an informative edge as he watched the woman before him, "_Titanic_ is the first ship to offer an onboard gymnasium, up to date with the finest equipment available."

"I had read that yes, but to actually see it—the cycles, the rowing machines, and…do you know what that is?" She threaded through the equipment, eyebrows furrowed at the odd cylindrical piece of machinery, him following suit.

"I…I'm not sure." She laughed softly, taking in his seriously bemused expression, shaking her head gently.

"I would be almost terrified to use it I think."

"The gym's overseer, Mr. McCawley, would be most willing to give you instruction if you prefer. The gym is open to ladies such as yourself from 9 am to noon. Tickets can be purchased from the Purser at one shilling apiece."

"No thank you Mr. Murdoch. My duties to the Hayses rarely afford me moments like these, and I prefer to save what little money I posses." Murdoch let his hands clasp behind his back as he watched her circle about the various pieces of equipment. "Have you ever ridden one of the cycles?" He started at her question, unable to stop a small, amused smile from gracing his face.

"I can't say that I have miss."

"Would you care to join me?" She ran her hand along a handle bar, turning to him with a curious smile. "Am I allowed? I have never ridden a bicycle, let alone a fixed cycle."

"I would be willing to lend you assistance if only for a few turns, but I should not join you." He moved over beside her, watching her cautiously step over the cycle, settling against the seat, foot bracing against a peddle. She hiked her skirt a bit, revealing her stocking clad ankles as she fumbled for the other peddle, gripping the handlebars.

"Is this right?" She glanced to him uncertainly.

"You look se. Now just move your feet." A slight laugh left her as she pushed a foot forward, followed by the other, the peddles spinning in circles with her feet. Murdoch couldn't believe the excited light in her eyes, catching her smile start to widen before she'd draw it back in. Could this young lady really be that excited about such things? She stopped after a minute, swinging her foot over the cycle, Murdoch instinctively raising a hand to assist her off. The leather of his glove was smooth and cool against her skin as she stepped off, surprised to find them so close together.

"I must say that is quite something. My father would find himself mesmerized by such a trapping."

"May I ask about your father?" Murdoch's voice was politely curious as they started to move through the room. "Does he have a particular interest in human fitness? Or shipboard trappings?"

"Shipboard trappings, sir. My father was a colleague of Thomas Andrews in designing ships. I would spend time in his office, looking over plans, listening to him talk of engineering concepts my young mind could not comprehend. I regret it now, wishing I had been old enough to take his words to heart. Though most of my free time now is spent poring over naval design publications as I can locate them." She paused as he held open the gymnasium door, admitting them back out into the warm sun on the deck. "I'm sorry if I have said too much sir. I do not wish to bore you when you have sacrificed your free time so willingly for my benefit."

"On the contrary Miss Marsden, it is refreshing to come across a passenger genuinely interested in the facets of a ship's design. Most only care from a sense of misplaced obligation."

"I'm indeed sorry to hear that. As one who would willingly scour this ship top to bottom, I hate to think of you and your fellow officers wasting your knowledge on those who could care less."

"Well if you're willing to go top to bottom, I would suggest our next stop six decks down." He didn't miss the slight widening of her eyes.

"Am I allowed to go that deep? I willingly admit to not knowing all the areas of the ship a first class passenger servant is entitled to explore."

"The swimming bath is located on F-Deck miss. It is entirely appropriate for you to venture so far down should you fancy a swim." He cast her another quick smile, holding open a door to a side stairwell, letting her go ahead of him, descending down into the ship.

"How many decks aboard sir?" She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to him, careful to mind the steps.

"Nine decks in all," he casually answered, "the orlop and tank top are not passenger accessible though."

"Those decks house the cargo holds and engine rooms, I imagine?" She didn't wait for him to confirm. "With the exposed hull plating and steel framing?"

"Indeed miss," he couldn't keep the impressed note from his voice as he held open the door to F-Deck, "though all painted in white enamel to lend a more finished look."

"Those parts of the ship would be fascinating to explore I imagine." She commented aimlessly as they wandered through the corridor, passing a sign for the Turkish baths. Murdoch was still inwardly in shock at this woman's level of interest. While he found _Titanic_'s lower decks were almost habitable, most other ships' orlop and tank tops were dark, dank, rat-riddled places.

He stopped outside of a door with a porthole, peering in curiously before pulling it open, letting out a wave of warm, humid salty air.

"Checking to make sure no other patrons are enjoying themselves?" She asked with an amused smile as she stepped in front of him to enter the pool room. Her eyes roamed over the sparse room with few windows and the sunken pool so far below the floor level. "Changing stalls and showers as well," she shook her head, an incredulous smile on her face as he came to stand alongside her, "no detail has been overlooked. However I am surprised at the salty smell in the air."

"It's a saltwater pool Miss Marsden, beneficial after a treatment in the Turkish baths, or simply enjoyed as a recreational activity." Together they walked around the room, footsteps echoing off the metal walls as they watched the late afternoon sun reflecting and sparkling on the water. "The water is heated I'm told." He commented casually, realizing he was surprisingly more relaxed around this woman than he had anticipated.

"Is it really?" Her eyes widened in surprise, her smile never faltering. "I have never heard of such a thing, let alone on board a ship." She moved from him to the pool's edge, hiking her skirt slightly to start down the stairs towards the water.

"Miss Marsden, I must insist you stop." He quickly moved to her side, extending a hand for her to grasp, his eyes inadvertently straying to the small expanse of her black-stocking clad legs on display. "What if you were to fall in?"

"I think you would save me Mr. Murdoch." She glanced up to him taking his proffered hand as she continued down the steps, not missing the slight, annoyed crinkle of his brow.

"I would hate to explain why we are both soaking wet," he protested, almost dismayed she continued down the stairs, "can you not just take my word for the water temperature?"

"I doubt I will find myself down here again Mr. Murdoch, and I should like to see for myself, if you'll kindly take a few more steps, or I'll drop your hand." He sighed reluctantly, descending the first few steps towards the water as she neared, stooping to place a hand in the water. Her mouth formed a small 'o' as she moved her fingers through the water, absently aware of the cool leather in the other.

"It's as warm as bath water." She couldn't really believe it, pulling her hand out of the water. "And no one's here to enjoy it."

"Well the trip is just beginning and the weather is most pleasant," Murdoch said, hoping they could go back up the stairs, "once the weather chills as we cross the Atlantic, I'm sure you'll find more passengers in here enjoying themselves." She righted, shaking the water from her hand as she turned back to face him. Slowly she started back up the steps towards him, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Thank you for indulging me Mr. Murdoch. If I weren't sure of my steadiness, I would not have continued nor allowed yourself to become involved," she dropped her skirt, wiping her wet hand on her dress as they reached the deck around the pool. "Though it would have made for a most interesting, even amusing story, were we both to be soaking wet, I would find myself highly reprimanded for it."

"Indeed miss," he agreed lightly, dropping their handhold, sharing a small smile, "it would not do to ruin such a fine dress." His sixteen years at sea had taught him well how to compliment passengers to enhance their aboard stay.

"Certainly not, though aside from causing my employer public embarrassment when we returned to the lounge, she would not care about the dress." She said quietly, not sure if she should continue. She didn't need to spill her life details to the man she barely knew. They resumed their stroll through the room, companionable silence between them. Considering she hardly knew the man, she felt most comfortable just being with him.

"Mr. Murdoch, I cannot thank you enough," she started out of genuine gratitude rather than need to break the silence as they entered the corridor, moving for the stairs, "this last hour has been simply wonderful. If you find yourself available—or even willing for that matter—to continue sharing and showing facets of this ship, I hope you'll consider me your ever willing student." Her cheeks flushed, embarrassed at the unbecoming eagerness on her words and for presuming he would actually want to spend more time with her. He looked back at her, fighting to keep his face impassive. Most passengers were content after five minutes worth of information, let alone make their desires known for a second round.

"My professional code would have me question your enthusiasm, miss. Forgive me, but how am I to know it does not stem from the purse of a White Star competitor?"

"I assure you sir my interest is purely intellectual. As a casual student of naval design, I find myself most enamored with this ship and its advanced appointments. It is, of course, entirely your decision, sir. I will accept all or nothing that you deem appropriate." This woman continued to impress him beyond words. Her desire to explore more of the ship was plain as day, yet she left it to his respectful decision. Most passengers weren't so acquiescing to an officer's decision. Maybe that was the servant in her?

"If you would be available at twenty-hundred hours tonight, I am to supervise and escort the ship's carpenter and Mr. Andrews to the fore mail hold for routine measurements."

"Twenty-hundred hours sir?" Her brows knitted in momentary confusion. "Oh, I know its…8 pm?" She hazarded a guess, looking to him carefully in the stairwell, seeking approval.

"Indeed miss. Would you be available?"

"I can certainly arrange for it sir. But forgive me, please—I have to ask—does that not violate some protocol? Having a passenger present? I do not wish for you to jeopardize your position." She stepped past him as they emerged onto the deck bathed in early colors of the sunset.

"It is standard protocol for passengers to not be present for such activities unless the supervising officer deems otherwise. My only stipulation while below deck is you will be under my authority, answerable and bound to any instructions I may issue. Are we agreed Miss Marsden?"

"I would expect no less Mr. Murdoch." She bowed her head in acceptance, unable to hold back her smile. "You shall not find me a nuisance sir, I promise." He allowed himself a small smile to match hers, realizing the thought had never once dawned on him. If anything he was mildly surprised to find he was almost looking forward to it.

"I assure you miss, no such thought occurred to me," he watched her fight her widening smile, attempting to keep it reserved as they entered the first class entrance, "where shall I meet you this evening? I could come to your cabin if it suits your convenience."

"That is most generous of you sir. I am situated in cabin B53, on the starboard side. You can find me there at eight." He tipped his head in a slight bow, eyes softening with a pleasant smile.

"Until tonight Miss Marsden."

"Thank you again Mr. Murdoch." She bowed her head in return.

"My pleasure miss." With a final nod, he turned on his heels, starting for the bridge without a backwards glance, professional as ever. She couldn't help the smile threatening to fill out her face as she watched him go. She was more excited than she knew she should be to spend more time in the company of the handsome and knowledgeable first officer.

She let go a breath, steering her thoughts from Murdoch to her duty to the Hayses, moving for the lounge to collect Emily.

—7:59 pm—

"He's coming here?" Ms. Ann's eyebrows had not settled from their earlier, startled position when Lydia revealed her evening plans.

"Yes ma'am. He offered to meet me here." Lydia kept her voice calm, belying the nervous excitement coursing through her, anxiously awaiting the knock on the door.

"I still do not entirely approve, and I must insist you be careful," Ann shook her head almost disappointed, yet a small accepting smile came to her face, "I know how interested in ships you are, dear girl, and you have never once asked for anything, so I am tolerating your meeting tonight."

"Thank you Ms. Ann. It does mean a lot to me." It surprised her just how much she was really looking forward to it.

"I will watch over Miss Emily without fuss, but if you do not return within the hour, I shall inform Mrs. Hays of your activities. Are we understood?"

"Of course ma'am. It did not sound like this would be a long excursion." A knock sounded on the door at her end of her words, sending her heart nervously racing. That just had to be him. Careful to take calm slow steps, Lydia crossed behind the couch to the sitting room door, opening it to reveal the dark uniformed officer, contrasting sharply to the pristine white walls.

"Good evening Miss Marsden." She felt her smile widen on his words, taking in his handsome smile.

"Good evening to you sir."

"I trust it finds you well?"

"Very well indeed, sir. Thank you." He tipped his head politely.

"I apologize for being a minute behind, but if you are ready, we should be on our way."

"I am indeed." Lydia cast a quick glance back to Ms. Ann, giving her a farewell, thankful nod, before slipping out into the hallway, closing the door with a soft click. "And may I ask how the rest of your afternoon passed?"

"It passed without incident, thank you."

"Shouldn't the first day of a voyage usually pass without incident?" She casually asked as they walked down the hallway.

"Typically, the first day is always the most disorganized—the crew is just settling into their routine, in some cases going through the motions for the first time. Usually there are reports of luggage delivered to wrong staterooms, or a crate of perishables has inexplicably turned foul. So far, I believe the only complaint is from the second officer about missing binoculars." She laughed softly as they reached the stairs to take them up to the boat deck.

"Well if missing binoculars are the worst thing to have happened so far, then surely it is a credit to you and your fellow crewmen that everything has gone so smoothly." She watched a faint embarrassed tinge come to his cheeks as she met his small smile.

"That is quite a compliment, Miss Marsden, thank you. Captain Smith has left nothing to chance for this voyage, assembling a first rate team of officers who are all familiar with the requirements of their position." Memories of the fateful meeting earlier in the week flooded his mind, clearly hearing Smith's words about Wilde's appointment and his temporary demotion. Despite the glamor of the maiden voyage, Murdoch knew the longer tenure of the full-time _Titanic_ Chief Officer position would be more prestigious, so he buried the hatchet and pressed on with business as usual.

The sun's warmth from the day still blew on the light breeze as Lydia looked out to the distant lights on shore before turning to the two men they approached, illuminated by an overhead deck light.

"Good evening Mr. Andrews, Mr. Maxwell." Murdoch's voice took a professional air as the two men turned with pleasant smiles.

"And a pleasant evening to you, Mr. Murdoch. Prompt as always." Andrews commented with a reserved smile as Murdoch tipped his head in thanks.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce Miss Lydia Marsden," she nodded to the men on Murdoch's words with a small smile, "her presence this evening is under my authority and discretion. She is aware of my expectations for her behavior and should not be a hindrance to your plans."

"Professional to a fault Will," the carpenter chided loosely in a thick Irish brogue, fixing Lydia with a pleasant smile. "Lovely to meet you miss."

"You as well, sir." She turned to acknowledge Mr. Andrews, surprised at the curious, dubious look on his face.

"Forgive me Miss Marsden, but you wouldn't happen to be the daughter of the late Steven Marsden, would you? He was a colleague of mine and if my memory serves, he had a daughter who would be about your age."

"Indeed Mr. Andrews," she tipped her head in affirmation, with a fond smile, "we met a few times those years ago back when you started with the firm."

"I mostly seem to recall you sitting in the corner chair of your father's office at work on your knots."

"Yes, my father always said I needed one 'practical' skill." A gentle laugh rose from the group.

"Mostly to the chagrin of your mother, I remember." Andrews said lightly.

"Yes sir. She detested the idea of her daughter learning such a base skill." Murdoch debated adding a defense of knot tying skills but thought better of it. That would make for better conversation at a later meeting. He instantly blanched at the thought that he was already entertaining the idea of spending more time with this woman. He brushed the notion away, returning to the conversation at hand.

"Well gentlemen, miss—shall we?" Murdoch spoke up, indicating the stairwell door.

"Quite right Mr. Murdoch. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish and the sooner we can all get to drinking." John Maxwell turned for the door on his words, ignoring the roll of eyes from the chief designer as Andrews followed behind him. Murdoch skirted quickly around Lydia to unlock the door, accidentally brushing against her, an involuntarily flutter racing up her spine. She reigned in her smile, hoping she wasn't blushing too badly as he neared the men. Flooding the deck with light, Murdoch held the stairwell door open for the carpenter and shipbuilder, ushering Lydia to follow them as they descended.

She listened in on their conversation, mostly about the state of the ship after only eight hours into the voyage. The deck levels flew by as they descended, stopping on the orlop deck and threading through a narrow corridor. She turned quickly, spotting Murdoch close behind as she stood sandwiched between Andrews and the officer. She smiled her thanks as Andrews held open the mail room door for her, stepping into the well-lit room.

She supposed it made sense. A royal mail steamer, after all, should have nice accommodations for its mail cargo. Her eyes settled to the exposed steel framing behind all the crates and sacks, glancing over the rows of rivets, the steel plating. She squinted curiously as she noticed the thickness of the plates increase near certain seams, and the beams thicker in certain positions.

Distantly she kept her ears on the conversation at hand, hearing numbers of measurement reported, determined to stay true to her word and not be a bother to the men at work. She still couldn't believe she was actually here, that Murdoch was allowing her such a privilege on the off-limits orlop deck. If only there was some way she could return the favor. She clasped her hands quietly behind her back, moving through the parcels to get a better look at the perplexingly thick framing.

"Find anything of note?" Murdoch asked, quietly approaching her, noticing her intense study of the steel framing.

"Indeed," she nodded to the steel in front of her, "I was noticing the heavy fortification of the superstructure. Not something commonly seen I would wager."

"Ships like the _Titanic_ are not commonly seen," Murdoch countered, "but you have a sharp eye. Her bow has been strengthened with more steel backing as a result of a deficiency noted in the _Olympic's_ design."

"Really Mr. Murdoch, I caution you," Andrews looked up from his notebook, something of a small, sure smile on his face, "deficiency is such a strong word."

"I meant no offense Mr. Andrews," Murdoch tipped his head in deference, "I was merely stating the situation as it was put to me."

"And who did that?"

"Oh come off it Thomas," Maxwell cut in lightly pleading, "surely now you can admit to the errors of the past. The _Titanic_ has been strengthened to prevent a reoccurrence and the _Olympic_ retrofitted to cure the problem."

"Still," Andrews huffed, trying to hide his bruised ego, "I would greatly appreciate it, John, if you didn't go around sharing stories of my previous…faults."

"If I may—Mr. Murdoch, Mr. Andrews," she addressed the question to both men, not sure which one would answer, "may I ask the nature of the deficiency?"

"You answer her Mr. Murdoch," Andrews stated plainly, not glancing from his notebook this time, "let's hear how else Mr. Maxwell 'put' the situation to you." The faintest hint of a smile ghosted across Murdoch's face, secretly enjoying seeing the man knocked down a peg.

"While underway," Murdoch started, "the sides of _Olympic_'s hull were observed to be panting."

"Panting?" She asked quietly.

"Moving in and out, as if the ship were breathing."

"What would cause that?"

"All ship hulls flex as they move, Miss Marsden," Andrews smoothly answered, "there are established ranges in which they're allowed to flex."

"However it was noted _Olympic_'s hull was moving outside that range," Murdoch continued, "further inspection revealed cracks in her hull plating around rivets and windows. As a result, _Titanic_ has been strengthed in the noted areas of weakness and _Olympic_ retrofitted to prevent further damage, as Mr. Maxwell previously stated."

"Hardly a deficiency Mr. Murdoch," Andrews chided lightly, "and now the sister ships are the pride of the White Star Line."

"But they're not really sister ships, are they sir?" Lydia turned with a small, almost challenging smile after her words. "Sister ships are built from identical plans, and _Titanic_'s plans has been modified as a result of some flaw in the original. Could that not, respectfully sir, be termed a deficiency?" Andrews' face narrowed as Murdoch fought back an amused, even proud smile, Maxwell's laughter reverberating in the small space.

"Well spoke Miss Marsden," Maxwell lightly clapped Andrews on the back, ignoring the shipbuilder's putout glare, "would you not agree, Thomas? Oh, I like her Will. However did you become involved with the likes of Will here, Miss Marsden?" Her cheeks instantly flamed on the implication of his words.

"Mr. Murdoch and I met in passing this afternoon. I expressed my interest in _Titanic_'s appointments and he has been kind enough to indulge me ever since."

"Well hold onto this one, Will. They say its frightful bad luck to have a woman onboard, but I'd wager having you aboard, Miss Marsden, would count for more than some seamen."

"Mr. Maxwell, really," Andrews scolded with a fatherly glare over his notebook, "don't embarrass the poor girl. You might well chase her away."

"I'm flattered Mr. Maxwell, but truly you give too much credit," Lydia bowed her head in deference, embarrassed, "and I would not let go of such an opportunity over harmless words."

"There you go, Thomas," Maxwell walked over as he rolled up his measuring tape, "no need to jump to the lady's defense so quickly."

"Yes, well…," Andrews sent the carpenter an annoyed look, closing his notebook "our measurements are finished Mr. Murdoch, should your inspection be complete?"

"Indeed sir," Murdoch offered a polite tip of his head, "but if you gentlemen could see your way topside? I should like to give Miss Marsden a last chance to finish her observations."

"Very well. Thank you for your assistance Mr. Murdoch." Andrews' footsteps echoed off the walls as he neared the first officer.

"My pleasure sir." Lydia turned to watch the two men shake hands.

"Lovely to re-meet and see you again Miss Marsden." Andrews offered his first genuine smile since their initial topside meeting.

"You as well Mr. Andrews." The shipbuilder gave a quick farewell tip of his head before moving to the door, attempting to usher Maxwell out.

"Oy Thomans, hold up," Maxwell protested, pushing back with a glare before turning to Murdoch and Lydia, "thanks you two, and remember to behave yourself down here," he touched a finger to the side of his nose with a suggestive wink, "I know I'd be hard pressed to."

"Enough with you John," Andrews gave the carpenter a light push into the corridor, face disgusted, "you know Will, as well I, is a man of honorable intentions."

"Honorable intentions? But did you see her tight—." The door clanged shut behind him, cutting off the rest of Maxwell's words. Lydia wasn't sure whether to be mortified or appalled, biting her lip to keep an amused, embarrassed smile from her face. A chanced glance at Murdoch revealed him to be in a similar dilemma , though she loved the open uncertainty in his usually composed face.

"I do apologize for Mr. Maxwell, Miss Marsden," he said at length, forcing a composed tone to his voice, "as you may have noticed, he is not the most tactful of men." She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up her throat, releasing her uncertain tension.

"That's a very gracious way to put it," another small laugh sounded on her words as she raised a hand to dab at her burning red cheeks, "I don't believe I have ever been so commonly spoken about by a man before."

"I did not intend to place you in such an awkward position when I extended you the invitation. I had hoped Mr. Maxwell would restrain himself, but now I know better." She quirked an eyebrow curiously, a surprising pang of jealousy shooting through her.

"Do you do this often sir? Give passengers tours in restricted areas?"

"Truthfully not Miss Marsden," no lie or hesitation tinged his words, "most casual passengers could even care less about a walkthrough of the bridge, let alone the mail hold." He watched her face light up in a soft laugh, meeting her warm eyes. "I confess myself surprised at your continued interest and keen eye." He watched her try to hide a growing smile.

"Then I must also confess myself surprised at your continued willingness to show me around your ship. I hope it has been time you do not regret." She bit back the words she truly wanted say, hoping his answer would allay her fears.

"Not in the slightest, I assure you miss." He offered a polite tip of his head watching her break from his eyes to glance around the mail hold with a light sigh, drawing her smile back in. "If you don't have any further questions, I would recommend we return topside. I need to prepare for my watch."

"Of course sir. I don't mean to keep you from your job."

"No harm done." Her eyes flitted to his as she passed in front of him on her way to the door leading to the corridor. "I do not wish to keep you from your duties either."

"Miss Emily has been in bed for a time, and Mrs. Hays' maid has graciously offered to watch over her for a time."

"Then I hope as well you have not regretted your time this evening." The end of his words echoed off the metal of the stairwell as they ascended the decks.

"Not at all," she tried turning back to offer a reassuring smile, but quickly faced forward for fear of tripping, "if you would, again sir, ever be able and willing to guide me through more restricted areas, I do hope you will extend an invite. I know I have no right to ask, and it risks your position, but…I wanted you to know how much tonight meant to me."

"May I ask why?" His words were quiet, almost tentative, giving her the option of answering, noticing the fond, even sad smile growing on her face.

"Ships remind me so much of my father," a wistful tone sounded on her words as Murdoch stepped around her to unlatch the heavy door spilling bright light onto the deck, "though he always claimed Mr. Andrews couldn't design his way out of a hatbox, if he could see _Titanic_ today, he would surely recant his words. She is truly a marvel our modern age. "

"Indeed she is," Murdoch cast a quick glance around the cabling and rigging faintly illuminated all the way up the funnels, watching her do the same, "and as our schedules allow, I should be most honored to continue your naval education to the best of my limited knowledge." He watched her eyes flood with excitement, her face remaining neutral even in the low light on deck.

"Then I certainly look forward to testing the limits of your so-called limited knowledge, good sir." She couldn't tear herself from his eyes, not wanting to care about anything else but seeing him again.

"May I escort you back to your cabin?"

"Thank you, but my cabin is further aft, and you have your watch to prepare for. I do not mind seeing myself back."

"That is very generous of you, thank you."

"Not all sir, I do not wish to detain you further when you have been so gracious. I hope your watch goes smoothly."

"Thank you for your wishes. It's a beautiful night, and I'm optimistic for the night's reports."

"Perhaps you'll even locate the second officer's missing binoculars." A soft laugh passed between them, startling him to realize just how disarming this woman was. She had proved herself more engaging than he ever would have guessed, from her keen eye to her mesmerizing smiles. He knew duty dictated he remain distant, but something in their comfortable silence and lingering glance made him doubt it would be easy.

"Sadly, I must be off," a part of him almost hated to say the words, but he knew they were needed, "good night Miss Marsden."

"Good night Mr. Murdoch, and thank you again." She didn't realize the sigh that left her as she watched him break their gaze and head for the bridge. With the voyage just beginning, her heart fluttered with hope for the days ahead, not able to remember the last time a thought had so excited her.

—9:37 pm—

The hallway door clicked shut behind her, the empty space of the sitting room greeting her. She couldn't hide the smile on her face as she moved about the room, absently fluffing a pillow on the couch. Tonight was the most enjoyable night she had spent in years. Not only for the rare glimpse at such a marvelous ship, but also surprisingly for the man who afforded her such a glimpse. She couldn't deny there was something in Murdoch's sharp eyes, the handsome lines of his face that drew her in, made her want to see more of him. An excited soft laugh bubbled up as she remembered his words assuring her a future meeting. Would it be as soon as tomorrow?

She started from her thoughts at the soft click of a door handle, admitting a figure into a low light—a figure whose instant appearance sent an unbidden shudder rippling up her spine. Jonathon always did have that effect on her, especially when dressed to the nines in his dinner attire.

"I was hoping to find you here." Jonathon's words curled over a warm smile.

"Why is that sir?" She asked quietly, drawing in her unguarded expression, not willing to give this man anything about her mood.

"And alone no less," he continued as if not hearing her, moving around the couch, Lydia watching the light play about his skin, "I was sure Ms. Ann would be perched on the couch."

"She's minding your sister." Jonathon's eyebrows quirked in surprise as he neared her.

"Is it not your job to mind my sister?" His voice dropped to a low husky level, sending a wave of heat involuntarily through her body. "It would almost seem as though you were hoping to find me too."

"No sir," she coolly returned, fighting to keep her breaths slow as he stopped close to her, close enough to smell his cologne, "I was out on an errand and asked Ms. Ann if she could watch over Emily."

"Does she know you've returned?" His eyes settled to her, mischievous hunger in their depths, setting her on edge.

"Not yet."

"Then I can have you all to myself." His words left on a whisper, his breath ghosting against her skin, making her just want to melt. For years this was what she wanted, what she'd dreamed about. How was it possible to be happening now? "I've seen the way you look at me Lydia," he continued, voice low, "as if imaging the lines of my body beneath my clothes." A fierce blush overtook her cheeks as she listened, not able to deny his words, but scrambling for a controlled response.

"Perhaps Mr. Hays," she clung to his proper name for clarity in the waves of desirous confusion he radiated, "you project your own feelings into my glances at you."

"Perhaps," he countered unconcernedly, "but if I were to touch you now, could you deny me?" She froze in shock, eyes widened before sinking closed at the weight of his warm hand on her hip, slowly sliding to rest low on her stomach, fingers dangerously close. William Murdoch's face flashed in her mind, startling her to force her eyes open, meeting Jonathon's dark green waves of unbridled want.

For years she had longed for Jonathon to look at her with such fire, but now that he was here, why was she thinking of another man? What was wrong with her? She believed herself in love with Jonathon Hays for years. How could one man in just a day convince her otherwise?

"Jonathon." A sharp, stern voice broke through the haze, her startled eyes darting to the glaring, pointed features of Charles Hays. "Release her." A smugly amused smile came to the younger man's face as he slowly slid his hand from her body. Lydia's mind was reeling, her face red hot—how had she not heard Mr. Hays' entrance? How could she let herself get to this position? Caught intimately with her employer's son was not the reason for termination she wanted.

"Did he harm you Lydia?" Her eyes snapped to Charles', seeing the displeased concern, his tone no less severe.

"No sir, I—he—."

"No harm done, father," Jonathon's voice was all calm smoothness, "we were merely talking."

"Jonathon Carlton Hays, don't you dare lie to me again. You think your mother and I want you tainting this poor girl? She would not be the first to willingly follow you to bed." Lydia's eyes widened, turning to Jonathon with a blank, surprised look. His only plan had been to use her? All these years of charm and handsome smiles were only to bed her now? She dropped her head, suddenly feeling the total fool.

"I had no intentions of tainting anything that wasn't desired," Jonathon turned to Lydia, his face the picture of repenting innocence, "Miss Lydia, if I have offended you in any manner, I offer my deepest apologies." Lydia's eyes fleetingly met his, offering a quick silent nod, not trusting her voice in her shamed embarrassment.

"To your room with you—both of you," Mr. Hays' stern look lost none of its intensity over the apology, "this ends here. Mrs. Hays and Ms. Ann shall never hear of it. But if either they or myself find you two again in such a compromising position, swift retribution will fall on you both."

"Yes sir." Lydia didn't usually, but decided now to drop a quick curtsey before quickly scurrying around the elder Hays, not caring any further about the exchange between father and son, nor the waiting Ms. Ann, as she ducked into the washroom.

She turned the light switch, leaning back against the door, fighting not to hyperventilate, heart hammering. What had she just let happen? She thought Jonathon, after all their years, finally returned some feeling for her. He purred the words so smoothly in her ear, his hand so sure. But surely Mr. Hays wasn't lying. Was that why Jonathon never visited except for holidays? Did his own parents not receive him socially because of his bad habits? Surely he wasn't everything his father hinted he was? Was he?

She moved from the door, bracing her hands against the cool marble of the washbasin counter, eyes rising to look at herself in the mirror. She couldn't help the wave of disgusted idiocy that washed over her as she gazed at her reflection. The first man who showed just the slightest indication that her feelings were returned and she was ready to part her legs. Hadn't she been raised better? She turned the tap on, soaking a washcloth before pressing it to her face, sighing deeply, letting her eyes sink closed.

She blamed Ms. Yvette Clairmont, Mrs. Hays' decadently French dressmaker. Outwardly, she was the perfect pristine lad of society, but to those in her close circle, she was as colorful and exotic as they came. Yvette believed it an absolute crime that Lydia, at twenty-five years young, had never taken a lover nor explored her own body's response to pleasure, and vowed to help her. Her help came in the form of novels—sensual, romantic, improper. And as Lydia devoured the dirty, deliciously steamy love stories—buried under her covers late at night, terrified of being caught, face flushed, breathing thick and heavy—no other man had come to mind but Jonathon Hays. Fueled by the novels' words, she'd dared to dream for four years that she and Jonathon could share a love as passionate. And tonight had been the first flicker it might come true—in all its conflicting, heart-breaking, frustrating glory—and yet thoughts of the first officer invaded her mind.

Absently she continued to dab at her face, amazed how so perfect an evening could be so quickly soured and wondering how she would ever sleep.


	3. Friday, April 11th

**Thank you everyone and please enjoy!**

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><p><em>"In the fight during the coming season, there will be a scent of battle all the way from New York to the shores of this country—a contest of sea giants in which the <em>Titanic_ will doubtless take highest honors." – The _London Standard

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>**: Friday, April 11****th**

—10:14 am—

"I'd wager we have five days of fair sailing ahead of us, sir."

"I find myself inclined to agree Mr. Lowe," Murdoch glanced around with a small smile, "though don't let the current weather fool you. The Atlantic route, though glamorous, can turn stormy without warning."

"Yes, I heard from Lightoller about your shared experience in Nazaré on the Portuguese coast." Murdoch's eyes, alight with shocked confusion, instantly landed on the younger man, observing his amused smile.

"He still volunteers that story? The more he retells it, the more likely his wife will overhear." Harold laughed softly.

"He did mention that she was not to be informed. Though from what I hear, you were in a more incriminating position." Murdoch fought to keep an embarrassed smile from his face as he all too vividly remembered that night.

"Yes well…the simple moral of that story is don't let Mr. Lightoller convince you that because he knows Spanish, he also knows Portuguese." Harold laughed again, loving the amusedly perturbed look on the senior officer's face.

"If I may sir, Mr. Lightoller also mentioned that you too had a wife." The unspoken question was evident on Lowe's words as the amusement drained from Murdoch's face, turning to Harold with a drawn-in expression.

"Once upon a time, yes. Sadly, she passed away two years ago. So somehow," Murdoch cast his eyes skyward with a small, almost private smile, "I feel she already knows the story."

"My late condolences on your wife, sir," Harold quickly, genuinely offered, "I did not mean to stir up painful memories."

"It's quite alright Mr. Lowe, really. I have long made peace with her passing." The two men continued their walk in silence, glancing about the passengers, all of whom seemed oblivious to their presence. Lowe cast a casual glance over to the first officer, wondering if his wife's death contributed to his staunch, unflinching dedication to his professional duty. He hadn't known the first officer when he was married, but he wondered if Lightoller would fill him in. For even though Murdoch did share a good report with all the other officers, Lowe would not place him atop a list of most approachable, but Charles Lightoller would gladly offer up almost any story.

"Well it's certainly enjoyable to see the passengers enjoying the fine weather." Lowe commented as both officers glanced around the decks, the younger man actually enjoying the morning's rounds.

"Indeed it is." Murdoch allowed himself a small smile as he watched a boy's father instruct him how to spin a top.

"Most seem to care less that we're undertaking our rounds."He commented, glancing about. "They seem fairly content to just enjoy themselves, let alone bother us with questions or a need."

"Most passengers won't always ask. The more, shall we say, impatient passengers can demand your time and effort, which you meet with a willing smile as duty dictates. However, the majority of passengers appreciate a keen eye and a volunteering sprit." Murdoch had seen enough over his sixteen years of ship service to gauge which passengers would be grateful or indignant to receive offers of assistance. It was that ability that truly separated Junior and Senior officers. The two men walked in silence, Murdoch casting a quick glance to the younger man at his side. Technically, Lowe knew almost as much as he did, but his leadership and confidence required more years of maturation.

"Would you care to point out an example, sir?" Lowe glanced about the deck as they walked, not spotting anyone obviously in need of assistance. "I'm not readily spotting anyone. Or anyone I'm readily willing to disturb." Murdoch looked around the deck, searching for an example.

"Ah, there," he said quietly, indicating a young woman sitting on the deck reading, "the lady over there might be in need of a deck chair. The nearest empty one is down the line apiece." They neared the woman in question, Murdoch's brow furrowing. It wasn't Lydia Marsden, was it? It was difficult to tell around the circular dark glasses she wore, but the fashionably cut black attire and simply styled hair gave her away. The woman's head rose, peering over to the little girl in the deck chair she sat beside, checking something in the girl's lap. The little girl was most certainly Emily Hayes, and Murdoch found himself quite pleased (annoyed) that he was actually glad to see Lydia.

"Why don't you go offer the lady your assistance with moving a deck chair, Harold?" Murdoch forced an encouraging note to his voice, nodding the young man forward. Harold nodded with a nervous edge, setting his mouth in a thin smile and straightened to his full height as he neared the lady.

"Excuse me ma'am?" The lady raised her glasses shielded eyes to him. "Would you care for some assistance in moving a deck chair? There's no need for you to sit directly on the deck,

"No thank you sir, I am quite alright." She offered up a content smile.

"A-are you sure ma'am? It would be no trouble." Harold shot a nervous glance over to Murdoch as the first officer approached.

"Yes sir, thank you again. Sitting here allows me an easier view to check my charge's work." She answered softly, her tone reassuring.

"Very well ma'am. Pardon my intrusion." Lowe offered a quick tip of his head as Murdoch stopped beside him.

"Yes, please do excuse the distraction Miss Marsden," her head shot up on the warm, accented words, "I confess it was by my doing that Mr. Lowe here offered his assistance."

"Nothing to excuse Mr. Murdoch," her lips curled into a small smile, "I am well aware I gain attention by choosing to the sit on the deck instead of a chair." Suddenly he wished she wasn't wearing dark glasses so he could see her eyes.

"May I inquire after your health, miss? I must say it is unusual to find a wearer of tinted glasses." Murdoch asked quietly, hoping he wasn't overstepping his bounds.

"My health is well, thank you for your concern. It's just…bright light bothers my eyes—makes me sneeze and my eyes tear. My father suffered the same ailment. It is usually a common find among people with blue eyes, I'm told. You are fortunate not to suffer." He couldn't believe the faint flush settling to his cheeks as she remarked about his eye color.

"Nevertheless, I am sorry to hear of your affliction," Murdoch sent her a small smile, watching her tip her head in return with a matching smile. "Forgive my manners, Miss Lydia Marsden, I'd like to introduce Fifth Officer Harold Lowe." The two exchanged glances and nods. "Mr. Lowe here is one of our finest junior officers, well on his way to captaining his own ship someday."

"Mr. Murdoch exaggerates miss," Lowe said embarrassedly, "there is still much yet I have to learn."

"Well it seems you're in excellent hands. I had the honor last night of playing student to Mr. Murdoch's teacher as he detailed his knowledge of the ship."

"If you're interested to further your knowledge miss, I'm performing a routine walk through of the cargo hold before my watch this evening, if you'd care to accompany me."

"The cargo hold, sir? Is that not down in the bottom of the ship?"

"Indeed miss," Lowe eagerly supplied, "below the orlop."

"With exposed steel beams and hull plating?" Lowe just barely held back his shock at this woman's apparent interest in such unladylike affairs. Why was Mr. Murdoch—the ever professional, seemingly impersonal first officer—allowing this woman to follow him on his duties? The more Lowe observed the genuine excitement and interest on her face, the more he almost grew jealous Murdoch was spending time with this woman.

"The ship's frame is indeed exposed in the hold. You'll be afforded a rare opportunity to explore more of the ship's superstructure."

"I'm most appreciative of the invitation Mr. Murdoch. I look forward to tonight with great anticipation." She let her smile grow the more she met Murdoch's eyes.

"The same rules from last night will govern, as you may already have surmised."

"But of course, I would expect nothing different."

"Very well then Miss Marsden. Until eight this evening, at your cabin?"

"Until then Mr. Murdoch," she turned from Murdoch to Lowe, "and a pleasure to meet you Mr. Lowe."

"You as well, miss." Lowe inclined his head politely in farewell as he followed Murdoch down the deck. He discreetly stole a glance to his superior officer, searching the older man's face for some hint of emotion regarding this woman.

"If I may, sir," Lowe ventured gently, hoping he wasn't overstepping his bounds—he had shared a brew with the man a time or two after all. "The previous interaction with the lady seems a bit above and beyond the requirements of our duty, and hardly standard protocol."

"Correct on both counts, Mr. Lowe," Murdoch coolly responded, "Miss Marsden caught my attention yesterday with an amusing question about the shipboard mattresses." Lowe couldn't help but laugh.

"Mattresses sir?"

"I know it sounds absurd, but that is why it sticks with me," Murdoch surprised himself by admitting it. "She accompanied Mr. Andrews, Mr. Maxwell and myself for the mail hold inspection yesterday evening under my authority. Her behavior was well within my expectations, and I have no qualms with extending her a further invitation for this evening."

"Forgive me sir, but it sounds as though you enjoy time in her company." Lowe shot Murdoch a cheeky glance, taking note of the older man's surprised, even indignant glare.

"Nothing out of line with my professional duty, Mr. Lowe," Murdoch quickly countered, "the lady has a keen interest in naval design, questioning various aspects of the superstructure visible in the mail hold yester evening. I enjoy her company for the engaging discussions over the ship's features and her unflinching curiosity coupled with genuine excitement." Murdoch surprised himself at his outpouring of words for Lydia, forcing himself to believe those were the only reasons he enjoyed her company.

"I meant nothing by it sir, just a mere observation." Harold met Murdoch's understanding small smile as the men continued walking in peace. Despite Murdoch's words, Harold felt some smidge of justification knowing the impenetrable first officer was just as human as the next man. He would have to make a point to prod Lightoller for information about the man and his 'professional' relationship with the lady.

—3:58 pm—

"Come along Emily. Your mother expects you for tea." Lydia righted the child's hat for the umpteenth time before taking her hand to continue on to the lounge.

"You come too Lydia." Emily looked up at her with hopeful eyes.

"You know I cannot, Emily." Lydia offered what she hoped was a comforting smile.

"But you're my only friend."

"You will have your mother, and if I am not mistaken the Allison's daughter, Lorraine will be joining you. Let us go—we need not waste any more time." The need gnawing her mind focused her energy and movements, knowing the sooner she deposited Emily, the sooner she could slip off quietly. The ladies around them were sitting in small groups at prim tables in ornate hats, drinking tea, talking over the fanciful points life as they walked.

"Lydia—I don't want to go." Emily whined.

"Emily, it's not becoming to whine," Lydia said sternly, before softening, "I know you'll have a lovely time. Visiting with Lorraine, your mother—and of course the delicious tea." Lydia realized she was repeating herself, hoping the child would finally agree.

"I don't like tea." Emily huffed, pouting.

"Enough Emily. Your mother insists you must go." And thankfully so. It had been days since Lydia could slip away and indulge her favorite vice, the weight of the whisky flask heavy in her dress pocket, and she was most looking forward to a quiet drink.

"Where is Mumma? I don't see her." Emily asked, hoping that she wouldn't be there.

"This way." Lydia and Emily approached Mrs. Hays, who was fashionably dressed in a cream dress and a hat topped with soft pink and white flowers.

"There's my little darling!" Mrs. Hays cooed as she saw Emily trailing behind Lydia.

"Go to your mother Emily." Lydia said softly as the child still clung to her hand and hid behind her black skirt. Reluctantly the child let go and walked slowly towards her mother.

"Why whatever is the matter darling?" Mrs. Hays asked softly, looking at Lydia when she got no response from Emily.

"She wishes to stay on deck and play." Lydia quickly answered.

"Don't we all." She turned sharply at the sudden, familiar voice wondering just where he had come from. She hadn't noticed him earlier.

"Jonathon—don't make a situation worse than it already is." Mrs. Hays said, somewhat scolding her son as he smiled expectantly, as though knowing her words before she said anything. "But Emily," Mrs. Hays continued, "tea will be fun today—Lorraine Allison and her mother will be joining us."

"Can Lydia come too?" Emily looked pleadingly up at her mother. Lydia felt her cheeks go red hot as surprise registered in Mrs. Hays' eyes.

"Emily—you know better than to ask. We've already been over this." Lydia said before realizing it was not her place to scold the child in the presence of her mother.

"Well said, Lydia," Mrs. Hays commented, "Emily, you know that Lydia cannot join us—"

"Why not?" Emily whined, looking at her mother with sad curiosity.

"Because she plans to have tea with me." Jonathon suddenly said as Lydia turned and stared shockingly at Jonathon while he smiled handsomely back.

"Yes dear," Mrs. Hays agreed, her voice sounding somewhat doubtful, but allowing anything to keep from making the situation awkward, "come, we mustn't keep the Allisons waiting." Mrs. Hays wrapped Emily's hand in hers and together they set off through the tables, leaving Lydia and Jonathon in silence.

"May I escort you somewhere?" He suddenly asked, watching her brow crinkle.

"Thank you, but I am not in need of assistance." The flask in her pocket was desperately calling.

"I didn't say you were in need—I have offered. And after what Emily heard, if she saw us leave separately, you would have even more questions to answer next time you see her." His eyes never wavered from hers, holding out his arm. Letting go a soft sigh, she reluctantly stepped forward, looping her arm through his, resting her hand gently on his arm. "Was that so hard?" He whispered, voice near her ear sending a nervous shiver up her spine as they started off through the lounge. She did her best to keep her face neutral, not giving away just how nervous she was to be seen in public with her employer's son in such a manner.

"Please Mr. Hays, this is far enough." She stopped just short of the staircase, drawing him to a stop.

"But we must work on this insistence of yours to always call me 'Mr. Hays'." His voice was all cool calm, making her even more nervous.

"After your father's warning last night, I dare not. It is not my place to address you as anything less formal than your proper name sir." She offered what she hoped was a placating smile, trying to free her hand from his arm. Swiftly his hand rose, grasping hers, holding it to his arm, smile widening as her eyes filled with surprise, her attempts to free her hand growing more forcible and noticeable.

"Excuse me sir, but I must ask you to release the lady." Her eyes snapped shut, cheeks flaming on the voice over her shoulder. She knew those accented words.

"Excuse me officer, but it is not your place to interfere." Jonathon smoothly countered, his voice sharp.

"It is my duty to see to passengers' wellbeing, and when I notice a lady struggling, it is my job to interfere." Murdoch stood his ground, leveling the slightly taller man's challenging stare with his most official of glares.

"Mr. Murdoch, Mr. Hays, please," Lydia intervened, turning to both men as if to make peace, wrenching her hand from Jonathon's arm, "Mr. Murdoch meant nothing by his intrusion, Mr. Hays, he was merely doing his job."

"You two previously know each other?" Jonathon cut through accusingly, looking between the two.

"Miss Marsden and I had the pleasure of meeting yesterday, sir. We had plans to meet this afternoon, unless she desires otherwise." She fought back a look of surprise on Murdoch's smooth words, feeling Jonathon's bothered, questioning gaze settle to her, doing her best to ignore the singsong of her flask.

"Is this true Lydia?"

"Jonathon, I promised you nothing," she purposefully used his first name, not wanting to invite any more trouble, "and yes, I did have plans to meet Mr. Murdoch. He was kind enough yesterday to offer me a tour of the ship." Jonathon's eyes flicked from hers to Murdoch's.

"My apologies," Jonathon's tipped his head curtly, "Lydia did not inform me she had plans for the hour and I was merely attempting to persuade her to pass the time in my company."

"Might I suggest a more gentle form of persuasion next time, sir, and we'll avoid this trouble." Murdoch added politely, a pleasant, closed mouth smile coming to his face.

"Indeed," Jonathon dismissed absently, "until later Lydia." He bent in a small bow before turning and taking the stairs down. Lydia let go a deep breath, mind spinning. Just how would she answer for that later?

"I apologize if I have put you in trouble with your employer Miss Marsden, but he should not have restrained you in such a manner."

"He's my employer's son, Mr. Murdoch. My position is not in jeopardy. He and his parents are not exactly on the best of terms." She bit her tongue, suddenly regretting her words. "I'm sorry I said that. I should not spread idle gossip."

"I shan't tell anyone. It wouldn't be my place." He offered her a small reassuring smile, watching a small smile come to her face.

"Thank you for your gallantry Mr. Murdoch," she felt her cheeks flush, embarrassed, "Mr. Hays does not seem to grasp that time in his company would get me in trouble with his parents. But I do so appreciate your willingness to meet with me again."

"I enjoyed your company and sharp eye in the mail hold last night, miss, and I feel I would be remiss not to indulge you further before tonight should you wish it." He watched her smile brighten, still not fully believing he had actually lingered about the hallway hoping to find her.

She fought with herself, desperate to ignore the call of her flask and just be able to enjoy time in this man's company. She couldn't deny she was excited at the prospect of spending more time with him even if they hadn't scheduled a meeting. And maybe, just maybe, he would join her in a drink.

"If I didn't know better good sir, I would say you are following me." A playful light came to her eyes as she squinted at him in mock accusation.

"I confess to my nefarious motives, miss," he knew she was (unfortunately) sharp enough to figure him out, "I was hoping to catch you on your free hour as I find myself singularly intrigued by a remark from Mr. Andrews yesterday evening."

"Oh?" She asked casually. "And what would that be, may I ask?"

"It would be more appropriately discussed in a less public setting." His voice dropped to a quieter level, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the implication of his words. "I would offer to escort you miss, but after the earlier incident I would understand if you declined."

"Nonsense Mr. Murdoch," she let her smile fill out, taking on a more flirty edge, knowing it was from lack of a steadying drink, "I am not so embarrassed as to not be seen with another man. Spending time in your company will not land me in trouble."

"Well Miss Marsden, if you'll do me the honor?" He held out his arm, eyes locking as she didn't hesitate to step up to take his arm. He guided her out of lounge entryway and onto the deck, crossing the boat deck bathed in late afternoon sun. She fought to keep a downright giddy smile from her face as they moved across the deck, enjoying herself more than she should.

If only someone she knew could see her on the arm of the handsome first officer! She blanched at her simpering, school girl thoughts, chiding herself for such behavior when she didn't even know if the man was engaged or married, no thanks to his uniform gloves. Part of her wanted to believe he would not extend such kindness to her if he were married, but she also knew their behavior had never crossed the professional line.

He opened a forward door, her brows furrowing, wondering just where on this ship he was leading her. They stepped into a clean white corridor, brightly lit and lined with inconspicuous doors. Her eyes caught the plaque on the nearest door. _'Fourth Officer.' _

"This looks like the officer's quarters, Mr. Murdoch," her voice was small, hedged with concern, "are you sure you're allowed to bring me here?"

"Passengers are allowed to the meeting room. No passenger should ever be allowed to enter an officer's private quarters, especially a lady." He steered her towards a large room on the interior on the hallway, opening the door to a warm oak paneled room. She drank in the maps and charts affixed to the walls, sliding her arm from his to peruse a map of the continents. Oh how she longed to travel more. Reading of all the wonders of exotic lands made her long for the luxuries of first class living and the means to leisurely travel. Yet again another thought of what her life could be like if her parents hadn't passed.

"Well Mr. Murdoch," she turned from the maps, "now may I ask what has you so intrigued from last night's conversation?" He righted himself from the cabinet he'd been peering in with an amused smile. Offhandedly he tossed her a length of rope, surprised how smoothly she reached and caught it. The smile growing on her face was a strange mix of embarrassment and wickedness, her eyes narrowing playfully as she glanced to the rope.

"If you did indeed practice knots as a child," he started, "let's see how well you've taken to said 'practical' skill."

"Is this to further my naval design knowledge?" She asked amusedly. "I don't believe I asked for basic seamanship."

"It goes hand in hand with design, does it not? If you are not aware of shipboard tasks, how ever can you design for them?"

"Point taken," she conceded, glancing down to the rope in her hand, testing it between her fingers, keeping her hands steady, longing for a drink, "it's been years….what do you want to see first?"

"Impress me." He fixed her with a challenging smile, watching her eyes and face set to amused, determined lines. God, the woman looked such a playful minx, he fought back the wave of desire that threatened to derail his innocent plans. He forced himself to turn from her, stooping again to the cabinet to fish out another length of rope. He looked up to see her finishing a looped knot, a proud smirk on her face.

"How's this for a start?" She tossed the newly knotted rope back over to him across the table, a proud smirk on her face.

"A water bowline," he said simply, examining the knot, giving it an experimental tug, "well done, but not impressive." His eyes held a rare mischievous mirth as he watched her mouth open in playful indignation.

"Well by all means, please suggest something worthy of your acceptance."

"I never said your bowline wasn't acceptable," he tossed her the second rope, deftly undoing her bowline, watching her eyes settle discreetly the movements of his hands, noticing he'd shed his ever present leather gloves, "tie me a sheepshank."

"A sheepshank?" Her eyes widened incredulously before shaking her head with a smile and glancing down the rope. She set to work, twisting, wrapping and looping. Murdoch couldn't stop from staring—taking a cue from her, his eyes locked on the mesmerizing movements of her hands. Coupled with her playful smiles and eyes smoldering with determination, he dared to imagine her hands splayed over his body in intimate ways to make his blood boil. He swallowed hard to chase away such thoughts, drawing a deep, steady breath. Distracting, lustful thoughts for this woman were the last thing he expected from their meeting this afternoon.

She glanced up as she neared completion, catching him in his distant stare with an amused smile. Quickly his eyes snapped to hers, not breaking contact as she idly tossed him the knotted rope. He broke their shared look to inspect her knot, surprised at what he held.

"A trumpet knot," he said smartly, "but I asked you for a sheepshank."

"A sheepshank, as you know sir, is hardly practical. It gives very easily under too little or too much load. A trumpet knot however, provides better results and does not slip depending on the load is supports."

"And that Miss Marsden, is impressive," he loved the proud smile coming to her face, "it is not merely enough to know the physical skill, but to know the usefulness and its applicability to certain tasks that makes one truly masterful of said skill."

"You give too much credit Mr. Murdoch, truly." She watched him undo her knot, glancing casually about the room. She felt the heavy weight of her flask in her pocket, the need overwhelming, debating with every ounce of her being whether or not to ask the next question. "Are you opposed to drinking by any chance, sir?"

"You ask that question of a sailor, miss?" He asked amusedly, a surprised smile coming to his face as he undid her trumpet knot. "Opposed personally or morally?"

"Is there really a difference?"

"I personally am not allowed imbibe much due to the nature of my work, but I do enjoy a drink and hold no moral objections to the issue. I confess myself curious as to why you ask." She bit her lip, wondering if this would ruin everything about their tentative relationship.

"I confess to a weakness of imbibing," she felt her cheeks flush at admitting something so personal, "I was on my way to indulge when Mr. Hays and subsequently you sir, found me. I would certainly enjoy to continue showcasing my knot tying skills, but I should also much enjoy a steadying drink. It's been several days."He eyed her curiously, careful to keep his face blank of surprise at her confession.

"Does your employer not allow you to drink? Even on your own time?"

"Mrs. Hays is a teetotaler sir. She does not allow alcohol of any kind in the house. Needless to say, she does not know about my habits nor the stash I hide. It has been impossible to indulge since days before the voyage began." She closed her eyes quickly, realizing how her words sounded. "It's not that I'm dependent Mr. Murdoch, really I'm not. I just enjoy it as a way to relax."

"Should you wish to indulge Miss Marsden, you will not find yourself judged by me. I would join you if I could." A wave of relief washed over her as her smile returned with a hint of mischievous curiosity.

"You're not on duty though, sir, could you not indulge in one small taste?" She reached in her pocket, revealing a slim silver flask. He had to admit it was tempting, not only the gleam of the flask, but the playful spark still lingering in her eyes. Suddenly he wondered what it would be like to share a drink or two with this woman in a private setting, letting social barriers down, tasting the liquor on each other's lips. He snapped from his thoughts, mentally scolding himself for letting his thoughts run so base.

He watched her fingers deftly unscrew the cap, raising the flask to her lips for a small sip. Her eyes fell closed as the amber liquid filled her mouth, warming its way down her throat. She opened her eyes, enjoying his intense stare. Did he realize he was staring?

"Sure I cannot tempt you?" She held out her flask, locking her eyes to his, watching him war with himself. Slowly he crossed around the table, watching her victorious smile grow as she realized he couldn't deny such an offer.

"I must admit you are a woman after my own heart Miss Marsden," he always did enjoy a stiff scotch or a brew at the corner pub, but was willing to stoop to whatever to her flask held, "thank you for your offer."

"Since I asked after your thoughts on the matter, the least I can do is share." She held out the flask, almost disappointed when his hand grasped it lower than hers, preventing a brush of fingers. He raised it to his lips, reveling in the smooth burn, enjoying the commanding flavor, well aware of her eyes never leaving him. He found himself impressed beyond words—he had honestly expected a brandy or rum, not the smooth heartiness of whiskey.

"I'm impressed Miss Marsden. I would have counted whiskey as too strong for someone of your slight build."

"You looked Mr. Murdoch?" She drew her shoulders back, purposefully standing straighter, her small chest invariably more prominent, fixing him with a demure, yet wickedly knowing smirk.

"Any man would notice Miss Marsden." A jolt shot through his loins, eyes instinctively settling to the swell of her chest, watching it rise and fall.

"And you're still noticing I see." She couldn't help her boldness or the bolt of heat curling her insides. Hunger lingered in his eyes, knowing just how improper it was for him to regard her as such, yet unable to turn anywhere but her eyes.

"Are you always so bold Miss Marsden? You're playing with wiles I as a man cannot ignore." His voice dropped to a husky tone on his lame attempt at an excuse.

"You as a man," she repeated the words, feeling her heart skip and the temperature in the room soar, "and no, Mr. Murdoch, never have I been so bold with a man, let alone unsupervised." Somehow she tore from his heady gaze to her flask in hand, indulging another drink to hopefully clear her mind.

The effect was enough for Murdoch's rational mind to scream its way to the foreground, suppressing the urges of his body, reminding him of his position and location. The meeting room door was ajar for god's sakes. How could he ever have answered had someone walked in? Swallowing another sip of whiskey, feeling her nerves even out, she closed and pocketed the flask, looking back to him with a relaxed smile, trying to ignore the effect he was having on her.

"Well to return to our previous conversation sir, what now do you next request?" Her words were surprisingly even, belying the heated mischief in her eyes that still lingered in the air.

"Let's see how well you think on your feet, shall we," he welcomed the distraction, a slight smile crossing his face as he reached across the table for the discarded rope, "please tie an anchor hitch." Her brows furrowed.

"But I need an anchor…oh, I see." She snatched the rope with playful indignation, scanning the room for something to use. Deciding at last, she reached for the nearest chair, pulling it from the table on its wheels. Swiftly she wrapped the rope around the armrest, wrapping a few loops before pausing. She bit her lip, a breathy, embarrassed laugh passing her lips as she unwrapped the rope and started again, Murdoch's eyes trained on her the whole time.

"There you are, sir." She gave the knot a final, tightening tug, holding the long free end almost proudly.

"But will it hold under a load?" Without warning, he kicked the base of the chair, sending it across the room on its wheels, jerking the rope from her hand with a startled, laughing yelp. She raised a hand to stifle her laughter, watching a smile fill out his handsome face as he brushed by her towards the chair.

"Will?" Murdoch's head shot up at the male voice, eyes fixed to his superior officer, Wilde, in the doorway. Lydia instantly stiffened, praying she hadn't placed Murdoch in trouble by laughing.

"Good afternoon Henry," Murdoch smoothly returned, pushing the chair to the table as the other officer stepped fully into the room, the picture of rigidity with hands clasped behind his back, casting curious glances between the two. "Miss Lydia Marsden here has been demonstrating her fine ability in knot tying at my request, sir." Murdoch glanced down to undo the anchor knot. "Miss Marsden, this is Chief Officer Henry Wilde, my superior officer."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," her voice reverted to its usually reserved tone, "Mr. Murdoch has been most gracious to indulge me in my curiosities and interest about the _Titanic_. In the course of conversation, I mentioned my father taught me several nautical knots, and Mr. Murdoch has been putting me through my paces, as it were."

"I see," something of a bewildered smile came to Wilde's face, "and the chair?"

"An anchor knot, sir," Murdoch replied, smile still in place, "in the absence of an anchor or cleat, I challenged Miss Marsden to think on her feet."

"A necessary skill for a sailor. How did she fare?" Wilde stole a quick curious glance to the lady.

"Quite well," Murdoch turned to her with an appraising smile, "I don't doubt she could give me a run for my money."

"Oh certainly not, sir." Her cheeks flushed under his praise.

"Well I have a minute to spare, lets test it shall we?" Wilde's face opened to a loose smile. "If she's as good as you claim Will, it only seems appropriate."

"Gentlemen, please. My skills cannot compare."She feebly tried to deter them as Wilde slid the second rope across the table.

"No need to be so bashful Miss Marsden," Wilde shot her an encouraging look, "Will fancies himself something of a perfectionist and isn't known for his speed."

"Is speed the benchmark, Henry?" Murdoch tested the rope in his hands on his words.

"It seems fitting."

"So what do you say Miss Marsden?" She met Will's encouraging smile on his words, reaching for the rope with a resigned sigh.

"Very well," she turned to Wilde with a small smile, letting a hint of her earlier playfulness show, "do your worst Mr. Wilde."

"Let's start simple—a bowline, if you please." Her eyes snapped to the rope in hand, her fingers flying. Fortunately a plain bowline was simpler than her previous bowline, and her fingers were already warmed up. She dropped the knot to the smooth tabletop, sliding to Wilde just in time to watch Murdoch do the same.

"Well Will it seems Miss Marsden has you beat." Wilde's smile took on an amused edge.

"In all fairness, she tied a bowline earlier in our meeting."

"No excuses Mr. Murdoch, really," she shot him a downright teasing smile, "and in all fairness, it was a water bowline earlier."

"And we all know speed is not your forte, Will, but your knots at damned guaranteed not to slip." Wilde blanched on his words. "Please Miss Marsden, forgive my coarse language."

"It's quite alright Mr. Wilde, no offense taken." Wilde's chocolate eyes met hers as he slid back her now unknotted rope before he turned to slide Will his.

"A buntline hitch now, if you please." Wilde said simply, watching Murdoch hook the rope around his jacket sleeve, working the loops of the knot.

"A what?" Lydia asked confusedly, looking from Wilde to Murdoch to see him pull the completed knot from his arm, sliding it absently to Wilde.

"Fair enough to say Will is the winner."

"On the basis that is not a knot in my repertoire," she protested calmly, "respectfully, I'm not sure that counts Mr. Wilde."

"Well I'm sure Mr. Murdoch would be willing to share the benefits of his knowledge miss, but I must be off on my original errand. I admit to hearing your laughter in the hallway, and needed to see which of my officers was indulging the company of a lady. I must say I am pleasantly surprised." A look Lydia couldn't quite place passed between the two men. It was almost brotherly, yet mockingly suspicious. Quickly she turned to Murdoch in the wake of Wilde's retreat, concern on her face.

"I hope I have not landed you in trouble Mr. Murdoch. After everything you have done for me in the last two days, I couldn't stand to see you punished."

"No harm done Miss Marsden, I assure you," Murdoch sent her a reassuring smile, "though I'm sure Wilde will make jabs in the officer's mess tonight since you beat me on the bowline, but no one will give it a second thought to being anything more."

"I do hope so." She glanced across the table to the knot Wilde abandoned. "Could you show me how to tie the…buntline hitch, was it?" Murdoch reached to his jacket, producing a gold pocket watch.

"I would most enjoy it if you can spare the time. It is four minutes till five."

"Oh my goodness! I have completely forgotten about the time. Mrs. Hays will indeed be expecting me." She followed him to the door, stepping through as he followed behind. The change from electric to sunlight brought an instant tickle to her nose, her eyes tearing slightly. She could only hope Murdoch wouldn't notice.

"Is the sun bothering you by chance?" She squinted over at him, feeling the first tear break down her cheek.

"The sudden change from the interior is, yes, bothering me. But it will soon pass."

"Is there anything I can do?" She couldn't help her widening even bashful smile under his handsome, caring gaze.

"Sadly, there isn't anything to really be done."

"Pity." He said softly, longing to reach a hand to caress the tear from her cheek, trailing down to the curve of her neck, pulling her against him until their lips met. This woman had completely taken hold of him. She sniffed quietly as they entered the first class entrance off the deck, the women thronging out of the lounge for leisurely strolls or relaxing reading before the dinner call sounded.

"I have had more fun this afternoon than I have in years, thank you Mr. Murdoch." Unashamedly she let her eyes linger to his, not willing to contain her smile, seeing him return the same openness.

"Believe me when I say the pleasure has been all mine Miss Marsden. Getting to know and spend time in your company has been something to treasure from this voyage."

"Most certainly." A daring, dangerous part of her desperately wanted him to kiss her. To hold her close in the middle of the greeting area and kiss her with all the passion of her French romance novels.

"Until eight tonight Miss Marsden?"

"I wouldn't miss it, sir." He tipped his head in a farewell bow, walking by her to head back for the officer's quarters. She couldn't help the sigh that left her as she watched after his retreating form.

Of all the things to come of this voyage, the last thing she had expected was to fall head over heels for the ever handsome, ever professional first officer.


	4. Friday, April 11th cont

**You guys are awesome, and your support is amazing! Thank you so much! I hope you continue to enjoy!**

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><p>"<em>I am satisfied that the hull, boilers and machinery are in good condition and fit for the voyage. There is enough coal on board to take the ship to her next coaling port. There is enough water on board, certified to be 206,800 gallons, contained in seven tanks." – Francis Carruthers, Board of Trade Surveyor, upon completion of his last official act before leaving <em>Titanic

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: Friday April 11<strong>**th**** (cont.)**

—8:05 pm—

Lydia couldn't help but anxiously move about the sitting room. Ms. Ann was out on an errand for Mrs. Hays, and Lydia hadn't secured her promise to watch over Emily for the hour. She dreaded a knock on the door at any moment, wondering if Murdoch would have the patience to wait for Ms. Ann, or if he would leave her behind. She froze, her worst fear confirmed as a gentle knock sounded on the door. Heaving a nervous breath, fighting the flutter of her heart, she moved to open the door.

"Good evening Miss Marsden." Murdoch's pleasant voice and smile greeted her on the other side.

"Good evening Mr. Murdoch. Would you care to come in?" He fought back a curious quirk of his head, tipping his head in thanks as he moved through the open doorway. He couldn't stop the scan of his eyes over the room's luxurious appointments. In all his time onboard, he hadn't yet had the opportunity to see the first class accommodations. "If it's not too much trouble sir, Ms. Ann should return momentarily from an errand, and I cannot leave the child until she returns."

"It is no trouble at all Miss Marsden," he reassured her, "I find myself impressed to see the first class accommodations up close. They are truly something."

"Indeed," Lydia agreed, glancing around as well, "it makes me wonder every time what life could be if things had happened differently."

"To have been born into a life of privilege?"

"I actually was sir," she started softly, "my parents were carried off by typhus when I was fifteen. The only remaining family I was in contact with deposited me in a charity school with a decent bank account that I couldn't touch until I was eighteen. It wasn't enough to live on, so I took on a teaching job at the school when I came of age and entered the Hays' employ four years ago." Murdoch found himself in awe of her story though it certainly did explain the quality of her clothes. He always thought her tailored, trim, black dresses looked a shade too fine for someone of her servant status. Not that he minded in the slightest—the slim fit allowed him to better imagine the feel of her in his arms.

"I am indeed sorry to hear that Miss Marsden. In light of such tragedy, you have done remarkably well for yourself."

"Thank you Mr. Murdoch." A shared smile passed between them and absently she wondered what would happen if she crossed the room and kissed his cheek. Would he balk at her forwardness? Or pull her closer, lovingly devouring her mouth? Before either could break the comfortable silence, the sitting room door opened, revealing the bustling, prim form of Ms. Ann, arms laden with folded bed sheets.

"Lydia?" She instantly questioned, shooting an appalled glance towards Murdoch. "What goes on here, child?"

"Ms. Ann, this is _Titanic_'s first officer, William Murdoch. He has offered to take me on tour of the cargo hold on the tank top."

"Unchaperoned? Good heavens child, you cannot expect me to allow you to gallivant off so carelessly…again." Ann cast Murdoch a disapproving look.

"I assure you no harm or scandal shall befall Miss Marsden below decks, ma'am," Murdoch smoothly, calmly interjected, "I am going below in an official capacity, and Miss Marsden has a keen eye for naval architecture. She has expressed her interest to me over the past day, and I am happy to indulge her interest as I am able." Ms. Ann still glared back, not won over by Murdoch's words. "You are welcome to join us should you wish ma'am, though I must warm you the occasional rat might scurry past your feet." Ann's eyes bugged with wide disgust.

"Certainly not Mr. Murdoch. I am a lady of better breeding than that, and Lydia was too at one point. And of course there's the child to consider."

"Ms. Ann, would you please be so kind as to watch over Emily for the hour?" Lydia turned near pleading eyes to Ann. "Another opportunity like this may never present itself again, and I cannot so easily turn it down." Ann's stern disapproval began to crack under the sincere anxious look of the younger woman, glancing again to the upstanding officer, trying to decide if he really was as he appeared.

"Very well Lydia," Ann conceded, "but only for the hour. And sir, if anything befalls her under your supervision, I shall personally see to it that you shall not see Lydia again for the remainder of this voyage."

"Have no fear ma'am," Murdoch tipped his head in concession, "Miss Marsden shall return to you exactly as she left, but preferably a bit more knowledgeable and with the memory of an hour well spent."

"Thank you Ms. Ann, truly. You do not know how much this really means to me." Lydia offered Ann a heartfelt smile under the woman's now questioning gaze, knowing she would be grilled upon her return, but immensely relieved to keep her date with Murdoch. Date? The thought excited and unnerved her all at once as she followed Murdoch towards the door, entering the crisp corridor as Murdoch pulled the door closed behind him.

"I hope you will not be reprimanded further on our return," Murdoch started softly as they moved through the hallway, "I did not realize you had to secure evening assistance with your duties to join me in my tasks."

"Ms. Ann always reads in the sitting room, awaiting Mrs. Hays' return from the dining saloon. It is no trouble for her to check on the child from time to time. Emily rarely wakes."

"I am glad she relented and let you accompany me, Miss Marsden. If you'll permit me, I have greatly enjoyed your company and found myself immensely disappointed at the thought of not spending the evening with you."

"My sentiments are equal, good sir. Have no fear." She echoed his earlier words, turning in time to meet a small shared smile, heart fluttering at the warm care in his eyes. He held open a door, admitting them onto the desk bathed in the dark blues and purples of late twilight. The air was still surprisingly warm, a gentle breeze blowing the skirt of her dress about her legs, occasionally brushing his as they walked a short distance forward on deck until he opened an inconspicuous door.

The crewmen's stairwells were infinitely tighter and less ornate than those for passengers. They were barely wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side, so she trailed behind Murdoch as they wound their way down nine decks to the bowels of the ship, a comfortable silence between them. Part of her longed for him to reach back for her hand and finally feel the warmth of his fingers sans his ever-present leather gloves.

The steady whir of the engines grew louder as they descended, only furthering her excitement. No other passenger onboard was privy to such exclusive access of the ship. But here she was, with a most wiling first officer at her side. He turned a lever, pushing open a thick steel plated, riveted door.

The air beyond was dimly lit, cold, musty even. She shivered involuntarily as she entered the space, turning back to watch him as he closed the door, plunging them into further darkness as the stairwell light was blocked out. He turned from the door, glancing about the hold, finding it much the same as when it was loaded. She glanced around at all the crates and stacks bound in cargo netting, just waiting to be hauled out upon arrival in New York. Absently she reached her hands up, rubbing the lengths of her arms as she crossed them about her chest.

"I'm surprised it's so cold down here." She said, keeping close to him, suddenly not wanting to stray too far from him in the dark, confined space, wondering how warm it would be in his arms.

"This area is not regularly occupied by crew members, and the goods are not temperature sensitive. It saves ship resources to not heat this space unnecessarily."

"Well that certainly makes sense." She took a few more steps around the room, looking at the various items of_ Titanic_'s cargo manifest, marveling at the sheer quantity contained in such a tight space. She glanced up, noticing Murdoch was now almost across the room, scanning over the crates and the space, seemingly conducting the inspection his duty required. Another shiver passed through her and she wished he wasn't so far away, feeling her excitement ebb. The tank top, with its oblong shadows, eerie stillness punctuated by engine noise, and cold air, was creepier than she would have guessed.

Suppressing the urge to melt in his embrace, she shifted her focus to the things she still wanted to see. She threaded through a few more crate stacks until she could finally see the hull's steel plating. Her eyes settled to the tight line of rivets joining the main hull plating to that of the flooring. The sheer amounts of rivets were mind boggling. Surely this flooring seam could withstand anything. That's when it hit her—this wasn't just flooring she was standing on—it was the bottom of the ship. Beneath her feet was nothing but keels, ocean water and deep black depths.

"How thick is the bottom plating?" She called out in the space, hoping her voice didn't sound too nervous, eyes shooting up to desperately locate Murdoch.

"I believe the hull plating is one-inch thick steel, so I only assume it's the same for the bottom or maybe a quarter inch thicker." He caught her wide-eyed look even in the dim light. "This ship has a double bottom, you know. The steel we're standing on now is cross-tied to the ship's actual bottom about five foot down I'm told." She swallowed hard, trying not to think about how close to the bottom they actually were.

"So right beneath us is double bottom, and then…?" She trailed off, a nervous tremor on her voice that didn't go unnoticed by the first officer, who looked over concernedly.

"The ocean bed some distance down." She looked down at her feet, a wave of anxiety gripping her stomach. Her shoulders shrunk in as she raised her eyes to the walls, realizing just how deep in the ship they actually were, all the tonnage and water above them.

"And how deep of a draft does the ship draw?" Not that she needed another fact to add to her growing nervousness, but she couldn't stop herself.

"About thirty-four feet of water." He slowly started to work his way towards her in the tight space, heart tugging at him to do anything to curb her obvious growing unease.

"It's a bit of a frightening thought...thinking of all that above us and nothing below us." She said softly, her voice more unsure than he'd ever heard, steeling his resolve. He crossed the distance between them, standing close behind and off to her right side. He knew he was taking a risk but he was dying to do anything to see her earlier smile return. Gently he placed his left hand against her left shoulder blade, letting the rest of his arm press loosely against her back, offering what support he could, watching her eyes fall closed, a smile threaten the corner of her lips.

"We can return topside, if you prefer." He didn't even register his voice dropping to a soft, tender tone meant only for her.

"No thank you, I should like to continue."

"But clearly you are ill at ease being down here."

"I'm better now that you're…close." She turned to meet his eyes, an unbidden smile brightening her face. She knew she should be horrified at her improper words towards this man and the manner in which he was touching her. But the weight of his gloved hand and arm through her dress fabric brought a comfort unlike she'd ever known, and she was willing to say anything to keep him there.

"Then I shan't leave your side." Her heart leapt in her chest as his hand rubbed a small reassuring circle against her before sliding down to rest on the small of her back. She wanted only to bring his other arm around her waist and step back against his chest, safe in his arms. They took a silent step together, his gentle touch loosely guiding her. Her heart was racing, mind focused on the warmth emanating from his touch. She couldn't believe the contrast: Jonathon's touch set her on edge, made her question everything about him, but at Murdoch's touch, she only wanted more, finding her heart soaring.

"Did you see what you wanted?" His voice was still soft in her ear, resisting the urge to pull her to him, press his lips to hers.

"Yes, thank you. I was marveling at the rivet seams along the hull plating and flooring."

"Cracking was discovered on the _Olympic_'s hull along that seam, so it was reinforced here."

"Were you along for that inspection during your tenure on _Olympic_?" She remembered from their first meeting his mention of time as first officer aboard the 'sister' ship.

"Indeed I was. As unnerving as it is to be so far below, it is even more so to see cracks in the battleship steel."

"Battleship?" She turned to him curiously, loving their close proximity and the small smile on his face as their eyes met. A waft of faint, musky aftershave reached her nose, making her inhale deep to absorb every bit she could.

"The yard workers label this steel grade as "battleship steel". It's a uniquely hard alloy used in shipbuilding for years." She shook her head, clearly impressed.

"How do you know so much? Not only about being a seafarer, but also about the structure and design of the vessel?"

"The _Olympic_ was wounded in a collision with another vessel. The officers remained on duty during her repairs. My role as first officer had me relaying messages between the engineers, shipyard workers and the Captain. It afforded me a great opportunity to learn about the design of the _Olympic_ and by default, the _Titanic_. But as you noted yesterday, they are not entirely similar."

"Indeed. But I'm glad you're sharing your knowledge with me nonetheless. I have enjoyed my time in your company more than I…should..." She trailed off, feeling her cheeks flush in the cold space, knowing she probably should have been more tactful. The last thing she wanted was to give away her feelings for him, especially if they weren't mutual.

"As have I Miss Marsden. To an extent if anyone observed us down here, it would certainly lead to reprimand." He pressed his hand harder against her back, rubbing his gloved fingers against her dress. Even armed with that knowledge, he only wanted to pull her closer, feel her in his arms, against his chest.

"What is that?" She stopped walking before he realized, crashing lightly into her. He couldn't help his smile when she gasped at the contact before he stepped back, still letting his hand linger.

"What is what?" He asked quietly, trying not to think about how easy it would be—no one would see—to just pull her to him, sweep her off her feet. Instead he focused on where her hand loosely pointed, to a bright copper joint in the steel framing at the floor seam, with small plates at the roots.

"Surely you know what that is," he said incredulously, "if you're familiar with ship design, you should very well recognize it."

"I..I know I've seen them before. A…an expansion…um, joint? Expansion joint?" She turned confused brows to him, relaxing under his nod of confirmation. "To better help against the ship's panting?" She recalled the term from last night's meeting in the mail hold.

"I don't rightly know Miss Marsden. Sadly, you have reached a limit of my knowledge."

"Nothing sad about it Mr. Murdoch," she countered with a smile, not willing to let go his eyes, wondering if she was brave enough to lay a hand to his shoulder, "I have treasured what knowledge you have shared, and have been impressed you've had answers to all of my questions so far." But the more she met his sharp blue eyes, the more she wanted the answer to only one question—would he ever kiss her?

"I still wish I could give you more." He said quietly as she turned from him, noting the faint blush on her cheeks. A shiver racked her body, lips briefly trembling, compelling him to rub his hand more boldly along her back. "Shall we return topside?"

"Are you finished with your inspection?" She asked absently, glancing about the hold.

"Well enough for tonight. The second officer will make a sweep through tomorrow night."

"That seems like a rather thankless task for such a prestigious position as first and second officer."

"But who better to make direct reports to the captain? And when we're not on watch, we are at the captain's disposal."

"I forget sometimes you're onboard to do your job, even when you're not on watch."

"Same for you." She sighed in the space, shivering again, the urge to lean in and absorb his warmth near overwhelming.

"Perhaps we should go up. I am cold." Together they moved for the door they entered through earlier.

"If I had my greatcoat, I would lend it to you without hesitation."

"Well it's such a nice night up above." A pang of disappointment shot through her as his hand fell away to open the door, light from the stairwell spilling into the room. Silently, they took to the stairs, footsteps echoing off the metal walls. She was desperate to have the touch of his hand back, his body close to hers, to know what his lips felt like. If she turned to face him, could she ask him for everything?

She reached the D-Deck landing, unable to stop herself from turning back to face him. He couldn't help his smile as he reached the landing, close enough to almost feel her breath, seeing the want in her eyes mirroring his own. His eyes lowered to settle to her lips, hearing her breathing grow heavy with anticipation. Slowly, he bent his head until lips met, tentatively touching. Another brief touch of skin passed before the full shapes of their mouths pressed together, desperate the drink the other in.

Never had such reckless abandon for the rules overtaken him as he kissed this woman, reveling in the feel of her lips, teasing them with his tongue. She parted her mouth in a breath just enough to grant him a tentative taste, finding her tongue just as enthusiastic for his touch, her arms encircling him. She couldn't believe the moan—the truly wanton _moan_—that left her as she tasted his mouth. This man was knotting and twisting her insides as no fantasy or novel ever had. Her breath came heavily as his lips moved from hers, tracing down the smooth skin of her neck.

"God Lydia…" He breathed, forgetting himself completely to step closer, his swelling sex pressed against her. She gasped at the contact, clutching him tighter to better feel his solid, lean body. Her head fell to his shoulder, his following as they stood there, just holding each other. Every nerve ending screamed for more of his touch, the dull throb between her legs aching for satisfaction.

He disengaged himself from her arms slowly, taking a step back, cheeks flushed, unable to fully banish the smile from his face despite his seeming loss for words.

"I…forgive me, Miss Marsden, please. I forgot myself and let things slide from a professional basis." He fought to keep his words steady, to calm his uneven breathing.

"I don't think we've been operating on a professional basis for some time now, William." She said softly, loving the gentle surprise in his eyes at hearing his first name fall from her lips. "If we were, I wouldn't have continually welcomed your company at the risk of my station. I certainly wouldn't have let you touch me as you did in the cargo hold. Nor would I have held you so flush to me." She breathed an excited breath as a thin smile tugged at the corner of his lips, feeling her heart soar over just saying such intimate words. "Do not think for a minute that you have overstepped your bounds or jeopardized anything…please, you have nothing to be forgiven for." She closed the distance between them, cupping his cheek in her left hand, leaning in to kiss the other side. He turned his head to crash against her lips, finding her eagerly welcoming him all over again. She let him claim her mouth, body falling into his, longing to hold him always.

"We shouldn't linger Lydia," he whispered, almost remorsefully, against her lips "someone might find us."

"I know we shouldn't, but I don't want to stop." Boldly she pressed her lips to his, finding his eager response, feeling his leather clad hands skimming up and down her back.

"We must, love. For now." He placed a last sweet kiss to her lips, gently nuzzling her nose before stepping back from her embrace. A smile came to his face as he drank in her pink lips, swollen from his attentions, and her glazed, dilated eyes, tempting as ever.

"After you Mr. Murdoch." Her voice was the epitome of collected calm, belying nothing of their previous actions despite her appearance.

"Very well Miss Marsden." He sighed as he continued up the stairs, feeling her close on his heels, the occasional brush of her hand lazily across his back. Her touches were doing nothing to ebb the physical discomfort in his trousers despite his best efforts as they neared the boat deck.

The stars glittered above in the clear sky, drawing out a giddy smile as Lydia emerged onto the deck behind Murdoch, watching him secure the stairwell door. Her eyes turned skyward, not able to recall ever feeling so happy, hoping this was the start of something she would never have to say goodbye to.

—10:49 pm—

She replaced the lid to her tooth paste jar, still unable to keep the smile from her face. Ms. Ann had thankfully left without question, and the memory of Murdoch's touch still lingered on her body, fueling her heated thoughts. Reading her French romance novels now would never be the same again.

She'd been unable to stop her mind from wondering just where things would have gone had they not pulled apart. Would he have pushed her skirts up and taken her against the stairwell wall? Or pulled her off to a more secluded, comfortable place? What would his tongue feel like caressing her skin?

Of course none of those thoughts had helped her body calm down or ebb the throb between her legs. If anything, she was tempted to skim her own hand down between her legs and see what she could discover. One novel had described a woman touching herself, and at the time, Lydia thought it absolutely vulgar. But now with the memory of a teasing touch and a persistent aching want, she was almost willing to reconsider. But she knew there was no possible way she could attempt such explorations sharing the bedroom of a child.

Gathering the last of her items, she switched off the washroom light, closing the door behind her. She heaved a sigh, trying to release her pent up want and frustration, hoping sleep would dull her maddening longing.

"Good evening Lydia." Jonathon's smooth voice cut through the quiet, dimly lit room, making her stop short.

"Good evening…Jonathon." She forced the name out, not wanting a repeat of earlier conversations. Especially not when she only wanted to retreat to bed with such lovely, heated thoughts of the first officer.

"I'm pleased you remembered this time." She watched his eyes skim down her black dressing gown clad form. He was in an equal state of undress she noted, a fitted navy dressing gown covering his sleep clothes.

"I'm glad," she quickly brushed off his comment, sidestepping him, "the washroom is available if you want."

"I want more than that, my dear." His voice lowered to a husky whisper, stepping closer to her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, senses already heightened from her fantasizing, a wave of heat coursing unbidden through her insides.

"You may find it disappointing to hear that tonight is not the night." She kept her voice level, meeting his heady gaze with calm resolve.

"The other day you were melting under my touch, and tonight you push me away with all the coldness of repulsion. Please tell me what I have done to offend?" He stepped closer, bodies just barely touching, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder and skim gently down her arm. She sighed, her mind overwhelmed with remembering Murdoch's close presence, wishing it were him. She heard Jonathon's deep intake of breath, his exhale brushing past her skin as his hand stilled. Slowly he drew back, a look of curious suspicion on his face.

"I think I found my answer….," his voice was distant, hurt even, "there's a faint scent about you that no woman should possess." She froze, fighting to keep her eyes blank and face neutral.

"I-I don't know what you mean." She hoped she sounded sincere. He lowered his head to her neck, drawing a deep breath.

"Just a faint tinge of musk and spice, aftershave if I had to guess," his words danced across her skin, a hurt edge to his voice, "it would appear another man has already enjoyed your company this evening." Her cheeks flushed red on his words, scrambling for words to deny it. Surely he would let it slip to his parents and this would be the end.

"I…no sir," she started quickly on nervous breath, "I wasn't watching where I was going and I crashed into someone, sent us sprawling to the corridor floor."

"You can't lie to hide it Lydia. He must have been right on you to have left such a lingering scent." Suddenly in the large sitting room, Lydia felt absolutely cornered with nowhere to run, fighting back memories of Murdoch's tight embrace in the stairwell.

"Will you tell anyone?" She didn't have to clarify the meaning of anyone. The sharp cold in Jonathon's crisp eyes told her he was considering just how his parents would react to news of their promiscuous governess.

"Will you tell me who he is—this man who has stolen you out from under me in such a short time? Or are you really just that loose with your affections?"

"Jonathon, you go too far," she breathed out in a rush, "my affections are not freely given to any man with a honeyed tongue."

"And you have not answered my first question." She sighed, her eyes falling from his, not wanting to answer. "Look at me Lydia." His hand rose to cup her chin, gently lifting her head until she met his eyes. "I deserve to know who you so casually dismissed me for." She hoped he wouldn't remember the incident outside the lounge with Murdoch coming to her rescue. She knew if Jonathon mentioned his name, she would not be able to hide.

"Someone more befitting my low station, sir. Should your parents find us even in this position, especially after last night, I would surely lose my job."

"So I'm not worth the risk, but this other man is?"

"I think I would willingly choose to leave my employ for the man whose company I enjoyed this evening. No risk involved." She knew it was bold, but maybe Jonathon wouldn't call her on it, since she wasn't sure she actually meant it.

"Love is always a risk."

"So is taking a chance when there isn't love." He quirked his head curiously.

"You think I don't love you?"

"I don't know what to think about you Jonathon," she admitted quietly, "for years, you turned my head, plagued my thoughts. Yet you never gave me an indication I was anything more than a passing fancy, or the nearest available woman for your charms. And I'll admit, it drew me in. But I found a man who doesn't need to charm me or turn my head. I can just be with him and want nothing more. I don't know if I could ever find that contentment with you."

"Would you ever be willing to try?" His voice dropped to a near dangerous whisper, his hand moving from her arm to brush gently across her breast, loving her sharp spike of breath. He turned his hand, letting his knuckles gently knead and caresses around the supple skin. Her eyes dropped closed, mouth parted as his fingers closed over the hardened peak in a tight pinch, rocketing further waves of want straight to her core. Murdoch's face filled her mind as Jonathon's hand continued its ministrations, wanting only to moan the officer's name, wanting it to only be his hand. Jonathon's hand fell away, and her eyes opened, heart sinking to be reminded of Jonathon Hays in front of her. A satisfied smile graced his face, as though he'd just proved some grand point.

"Good night Lydia." His eyes smoldered with barely contained lust, drinking in her glossed look before sidestepping her and continuing for the washroom. She stood frozen until the latch of the washroom door sounded in the sitting room.

God, what had she done? She couldn't believe she let herself get lost in fantasy about another man while being touched by one. Her cheeks burned red as she thought on the fact that Jonathon Hays had just touched her so intimately. And after Charles' Hays' warning, she'd gone and let herself fall under Jonathon's spell again, even after fully admitting her feelings for another man.

Why did Jonathon always have to turn up and shake everything around? As if her distracting thoughts about Murdoch weren't enough to keep her awake all night as it was, she certainly didn't need to figure out how to deal with Jonathon again. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she wondered if just plain ignoring him would work.


	5. Saturday, April 13th

**First off, I want to apologize for my HUGE oversight on the dates for this story. I should know better and apparently I can't count, so a date has been skipped, but it doesn't affect the story. Just goes to show no matter how carefully you research, its the simplest details that escape you. But I am continually overwhelmed at the response from you fantastic readers-I'm so glad you're enjoying this story! Please enjoy & thanks again! **

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><p>"<em>HAVE HAD MODERATE, VARIABLE WINDS AND CLEAR, FINE WEATHER SINCE LEAVING. GREEK STEAMER ATHENAI REPORTS PASSING ICEBERGS AND LARGE QUANTITIES OF FIELD ICE TODAY AT LAT. 41.51' N, LONG. 49. 52' W." – Wireless message from the <em>Baltic _to_ Titanic

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Saturday, April 13<strong>**th**

—7:47 am—

She rolled her head, hand rising to hold her neck, sad the morning's bath did nothing to ease her discomfort. She didn't know how she managed to get such a bad crick in her muscles. Well, if she were being truthful, yes she did. It had not been a night of easy sleep—wound up from kissing Murdoch, frustrated over Jonathon's touch, longing for satisfaction and resolution.

She yawned for the countless time as she gazed out over the water from the promenade deck, the morning sun warming her face. She couldn't stay confined in the cabin or sitting room, knowing Emily wouldn't wake for another hour at least, and so she'd fled to the open deck, sparsely populated at this early hour. Lydia couldn't be more elated at the embrace with Murdoch, feeling her spirits rise at the thought of seeing him again, hoping he would indeed kiss her again. Her heart had warmed to him faster than any man and she was dying to see what might come of their relationship.

But Jonathon, on the other hand, was driving her endlessly mad. He never failed to fluster her coherent thought or warm her body to his touch. He constantly set her on edge, her stomach clenching as she thought about her next meeting with him. Or maybe that was the hunger? A soft rumble sounded in her gut as she continued to stroll, deciding at last to duck in the first class entrance to make her way to the Cafe Parisien for a light breakfast.

She stopped mid-step as she rounded a corner, coming face-to-face with the one man she didn't yet want to see. His piercing eyes and pleasant smile conflicted with every jumbled thought in her tired head, not helped by her sore neck.

"Good morning Lydia," Jonathon coolly said with a slight bow, "you look exhausted. Trouble sleeping?"

"Not so much," she lied forcing herself to smile, "I just slept in an awkward position." His soft laughter was so smooth.

"You really shouldn't lie, Lydia. You're no good at it." The amusement in his eyes shone on his words.

"Then I shan't do it again." She stiffly responded, feeling her stomach give another rumble of hunger. If only he wasn't between her and the café.

"Come, have breakfast with me." His words left no question to his request, watching her stiffen out of surprise.

"I dare not after the past few days." She held her ground, determined not to fall into any of his traps again. She watched him advance towards her, his face maintaining its pleasant smile.

"How about if you choose not to have breakfast with me, I casually mention to my parents your gentleman friend?" She stiffened, eyes narrowing to a shocked glare.

"You wouldn't dare." The first thing in her life she actually loved, and he was threatening to take it away. Loved? She almost blanched at the thought, yet found herself threatening a smile at the thought, despite the situation at hand.

"If I can use it to my advantage," Jonathon shrugged casually, "its part of being a businessman, the ruthlessness of it all. I don't wish to take away something that makes you so visibly happy, and dare I say—aroused?"

"Shut your mouth," she hissed, flustered and embarrassed, "you touched me last night without invitation sir, and I assure you it will not happen again."

"But that's not to say you won't let your gentleman friend. And what would my mother—upstanding, pious soul that she is—think of your gallivanting off with a gentleman, unmarried? Could she in any way see you a fit role model for Emily?" Lydia froze, offering Jonathon her coldest glare. Did he really care nothing for her? "All I want is breakfast Lydia."

"Very well." She ground out, muscles in her neck tensing, making her wince. Fighting the urge to rub at her sore muscles, she followed Jonathon down the corridor towards the café. She resolved to eat one croissant quickly, and be on her way—back to the sitting room, the gym, the pool, Murdoch's quarters—anywhere that Jonathon would not be.

He dropped airily into a green wicker chair, seemingly without a care in the word as she sat stiffly, her face impassive. Coffee, tea and juice were soon produced by the waiter, each choosing as they wanted. The tea was soothing as she took a gentle sip and a deep breath, hoping the relaxing heat would work its way to her neck.

"Now isn't this pleasant?" Jonathon asked absently. "Sharing a nice breakfast."

"If you say so." He turned towards her with a small smile.

"Now don't be so putout," he scolded lightly, "I asked you here for friendly conversation—"

"You threatened me, Jonathon," she corrected quietly, "you threatened to tell your parents of my activities for which they would terminate my employment. I don't know what we possibly have to discuss over 'friendly conversation.'"

"Your gentleman friend." A subtle note of bitterness sounded on his voice as he sipped his coffee. "On Thursday night you were putty in my hands, but by last night, your thoughts were clearly on someone else."

"Speculation on your part." She turned suddenly as the waiter approached, offering a variety of egg dishes and pastries. She simply ordered a croissant with strawberry preserves while he requested Eggs Benedict.

"No speculation involved Lydia," Jonathon resumed once the waiter was out of earshot, "you couldn't deny the lingering scent of aftershave about your person last night and you were clearly receptive to even the smallest of touches."

"Forgive me Jonathon, but I would hardly call your actions last night 'the smallest of touches.'" She debated her next words, already feeling her cheeks flush. "Not even my so-called gentleman friend has touched me as such." Jonathon's lips curled to a knowing smile over his cup.

"So I was right. It's finally nice to hear you admit to it." He paused for a sip, watching her turn from him, attempting to regain her dignity. "May I hazard a guess as to who this man of yours is?"

"No you may not," she quickly answered, "I will not give you the satisfaction of answering."

"Somehow, my dear, I don't think you would have to say a word to answer my question. You're pleasingly transparent this morning."

"Am I now?" She hated that she hadn't slept well last night. She didn't have the energy to holdout under his scrutiny, and knew that if he so much as mentioned Murdoch's name, he would have his answer.

"Mmm," he mused absently, swallowing his drink of coffee, "it's clear you don't want my company—not anymore at least. Yet you're surprisingly conflicted, as if you yourself aren't convinced of what you really want."

"I know what I want." She met his gaze, forcing a resolute tone to her voice.

"Then what do you want?" The tension hung thick between them on his question as their eyes locked, each searching, neither yielding. She started as the waiter approached, placing the requested food items between them. Instantly she dropped her eyes from his, offering the waiter a polite 'thanks' and looking down to her croissant. She couldn't recall being this hungry in a long time, especially since she hadn't exactly planned on such draining conversation this morning, let alone before breakfast.

"You never did answer my question."Jonathon started casually, cutting into his food.

"I want my croissant." She answered, offering a forced little smile before taking a bite. The strawberry added just the right amount of sweet and comfort she was looking for in this uncomfortable setting.

"An unbelievable answer." He shook his head, lifting the fork to his lips.

"Why don't you believe it? I'm quite hungry this morning." Again she took another bite, watching him raise his napkin to his lips.

"You won't be able to dance around me forever Lydia," his voice held a truthful, even dangerous note that sent a shiver up her spine, "try as you might, if anything of what you told me last night is true, eventually you'll have to make the hard choice." He paused for a bite. "What will you do when we reach New York and he sails away?" She stiffened, her face sharply meeting his, his eyes triumphant in knowing he'd hit the nail on the head.

"I don't really see how that is any of your business sir," she dismissed quickly, "don't tell me you hope for me to run to your arms."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"I would never give you the satisfaction."

"Pity," he shook his head lightly, "it could be the best night of your life."

"You think that is all I want from love?"

"No, but it's certainly a starting place." She took another bite of her croissant, mulling over his words. Would anything ever be simple with this man?

"Why now?" She had to ask, curious as to his sudden change of heart. From his words, she knew her interest in him was obvious over the years, yet why was he now suddenly choosing to act on it?

"Call it not realizing what you have until its gone," he simply said, "I know I've always held your interest, and while I hadn't necessary intended to act upon it this voyage, now that its waning, I have to step up."

"You don't have to do anything," she coolly responded, "I am not your employee, nor do I owe you anything. I do not owe you any obligation sir."

"Which again takes me back—what will you do when we reach New York? Simply leave him in a fit of tears? Turn your back on my sister and run off with him?" He took another bite, leveling her with serious eyes. "I'm offering you a deal."

"A deal?"

"Mmm," he swallowed his bite, "a deal for when we reach New York, if you want to break away from your servitude, and move on with someone you claim interest in."

"'Someone' meaning you?" She reached for the preserves, smearing some more on the last few bites of croissant.

"Indeed. Interested?" A small, surprisingly undignified laugh left her.

"Not in the slightest." She took a small bite, quickly chewing. "You're asking me to marry you? For what? For love? To rescue me?"

"All of those things, in time, of course." She shook her head, unable to believe this whole conversation.

"Do you realize how absurd you sound, Jonathon?"

"Nothing absurd about it," his tone hardened, eyes leveling to hers, "do you honestly expect that Ms. Ann won't have told my mother about your nightly meetings? And that she would subsequently keep you on beyond this voyage at the risk of being a bad influence on Emily? You know how keen she is on appearances." Jonathon raised his napkin, wiping absently at his lips. "And then what? You'd be left at the New York pier with no money and no job."

"Money isn't an issue to start with. My parents left me quite a sizeable sum that so far has only been used to furnish my wardrobe." She didn't see the need to mention her whiskey supply to him. It would only serve to give him further leverage against her.

"But to save you from all that—from suddenly finding yourself alone in a foreign place, with no hope of returning?"

"As altruistic as your offer would seem, you're still failing to see how selfish your motives. Your offer takes nothing that I want into consideration."

"As a servant though, that shouldn't bother you." Her eyes fell from his to her plate, stung by his words. "This would be an escape from all that." She failed to see how, but somehow knew the deeper truth on his words was correct. Ms. Ann told everything to Mrs. Hays, and while it had been a nice dream, it was only a matter of time before Mrs. Hays knew everything about her nightly meetings. And being as big on appearances as she was, she was sure to dismiss Lydia and find a suitable replacement. She knew long before the voyage started that governesses were a dime a dozen. But surely Jonathon wasn't the answer? Was he?

Her mind instantly shifted to William Murdoch. Would he offer her such a deal in the face of her termination? Or would he let it be her choice? Did it matter? Being with him was the first thing she ever did that she truly wanted. No one was telling her, no one was even aware of the nature of their burgeoning relationship. It was thrilling and exciting all at once. And for the first time, she felt completely in control of her life, free to make her decisions, to fall away in his arms, free to just live. Her eyes settled back to Jonathon, who intently studied the carefree, resolved light that came to her eyes.

"No sir," she said softly, "marrying with you would not be an escape. I meant what I said last night—I still don't know what to think of you, and this conversation, while shocking, has not exactly given a positive slant to my feelings for you. As odd as this sounds, I've found myself happier and feeling free for the first time in my life with this other man, and I will not so easily give it up." A small smile came to her face. "New York is still four days away. It's a wealth of time before I have to make any decision. And I well except your mother will find out about my actions, and I will reap whatever punishment she deems befitting if it gives me the chance to actually live as I want for the next few days." She dropped her napkin to the table, rising. "Thank you for the 'friendly conversation' this morning." She tipped her head in quick thanks, leaving a curiously stunned Jonathon behind.

He watched her leave the café, a small smile on her face, her thoughts clearly miles away from him and his words. Leaning back in his chair, he wondered if he had completely misjudged her. He admitted to barely knowing the girl—woman—who was his sister's governess. He'd watched her for four years flash longing, appreciative glances his way, and up until now he ignored them because he knew he was the only subject of her affections. But now someone else was stealing her out from under him and he had to fight back. Yet everything had backfired. Maybe he should just let her go. Could he though?

—3:55 pm—

"Lydia! You're not listening to me!" Emily's whine shook her from her thoughts yet again.

"I'm sorry Emily." Lydia offered a small smile, drawing a deep breath as she tied the bow on the back of Emily's dress.

"I wanna take my doll to tea but you haven't answered me."

"You already know what your mother would say. Your doll must wait here."

"But you haven't been listening to me all day. What's wrong?"

"I told you I didn't sleep well." And while that was certainly true, her mind was a jumble of uncertain thoughts. Jonathon's words from breakfast still rang clear in her mind, unable to deny the deeper truth behind his absurd offer. Would it only be a matter of time before everything she enjoyed was taken away from her?

With Jonathon knowing about Murdoch, she had started to assume everything would come crashing down upon arrival in New York, either by him telling his parents or wishing farewell to Murdoch as nothing more than a passing fancy. Dwelling on either option had eaten away at her hopeful resolve from breakfast, leaving her almost wishing she had never met Murdoch and a dull throb of her neck muscles.

"Lydia, is Miss Emily ready for tea?" Ann's voice cut through her raging thoughts and the cracked door as Lydia pulled the bow taught, eyeing the child from head to toe.

"Yes Ms. Ann, Emily is presentable." The child's bedroom door opened under Ms. Ann's hand as the older woman took note of the child's appearance.

"Yes, that will do nicely. Come along, Emily." Ann stepped into the room, holding out her hand for Emily as the child moved to take it, sidestepping Lydia. "Thank you Lydia. And you should get some rest, child. You look ghastly."

"Yes ma'am." Lydia dutifully answered, not intending to follow through on her words. Resting now would only make her groggier for the rest of the day and do nothing to ease the tension her neck. "Am I not to take the child up?" She called out quietly after Ann, watching the two of them head for the sitting room door.

"Not today. You could use the rest." Ann ushered Emily out quietly, the little girl's words muffled as the sitting room door closed behind her. Lydia felt her heart sink further without a genuine excuse to casually see Murdoch this afternoon. Would he even be around? They hadn't actually set a meeting for today. She was too caught up in him to think much beyond last night's kiss.

She ran a hand across her face, turning to the window with a sigh. Resting was out of the question, and hopefully Ms. Ann would understand when she returned to find Lydia gone. Lazily she moved from the bedroom, through the sitting room and out into the corridor, tinted glasses in pocket. After everything today, the deck with its open air and limitless sky seemed the only place fitting to attempt to sort out everything. After all, if she couldn't see Murdoch, she might as well make the most of the hour.

The sun was warm on her face, the tint of the glasses welcome as she strolled idly about, glancing to passing people with a smile and light nod. Most of the women were at tea and the men were occupying themselves indoors talking of business and worldly affairs leaving the deck sparsely populated to suit her fancy. She slowed to a stop at the railing, looking out over the waves sparkling in the afternoon sun.

Life seemed so simple on the face. Just live. And up until a few days ago, her life had been just that. Just living for Emily. She'd always done her best to ignore that she wasn't living her life as she wanted, because she couldn't argue with a roof over her head, and food on the table while maintaining her dignity. Then along came William Murdoch. And for the first time in years, she wanted. She actually _wanted_.

She could only hope the feeling was mutual, and after the previous evening's kiss, she felt pretty certain it was. But for how long? How far? The same questions had been circling her head all day, and she was no closer to an answer. She sighed, running a hand along the wood topped railing, a thin smile coming to her tired face as she marveled on the smooth, polished finish.

"You're lucky, you know," she said softly, shaking her head slowly, "everyone may want you, but you'll never want anything." She turned back to face the ship, leaning her elbows loosely against the railing, glancing up to the funnels, support cabling, the rigging. Everything was so clean, so new, so worry-free. It didn't seem possible for the tedious details of life to matter on this larger-than-life ship. Yet here she was, desperate for answers and certainty.

"Miss Marsden?" Her eyes dropped from the mainmast down to instantly settle on Murdoch's sharp eyes as she stood off to her right, a warm smile on his face.

"Hello Mr. Murdoch." She felt a smile equal to his growing unbidden on her face, finding him pure tonic for her aching heart.

"Has something caught your interest? Or is something amiss?" He cast a quick casual glance upward to the rigging, a soft laugh in her throat, feeling her heart lighten.

"Not at all sir. Your ship is in good order. I was simply looking around." Embarrassed, she reached a hand up to pull off her tinted glasses, his eyes instantly settling to hers, tension draining from her shoulders. "What are you about this afternoon?"

"Honestly, I find myself headed to the lounge, hoping to catch a governess on temporary relief of her duties, willing to spend an hour furthering her naval knowledge." She felt her cheeks faintly flush on his words, giddy over knowing he was actually looking for her.

"Well you are welcome to continue on your way sir, but I don't know if you will find her." He laughed softly.

"You wouldn't happen to know where I could find her, do you? She looks remarkably like you, just as beautiful, just as lovely." She bit her lip on her growing smile, eyes falling closed as her head fell, elation conflicting with everything else.

"Oh William…" His name left her on a soft, rushed, even strained breath, compelling him to take a quick step forward, extending an arm supportively.

"Walk with me?" He asked softly, watching her instantly move to take his arm before they started off towards the bow. He lead her through the deck partition gates, over to the shadows of the lifeboats, stealing glances to her worn face, showing signs of stress that she tried to hide.

"What's wrong, love?" He asked quietly, eyes intently regarding her, watching her war with herself as her eyes rose to his, uncertainty clouding the usual excitement.

"I don't know….I don't…," she shook her head, trying to from a coherent thought, "he knows—Jonathon, my employer's son whom you met yesterday at the staircase. He knows about us and he'll tell his parents, he will—and then what? …I don't know." Her grip on his arm had tightened, longing to cling something steady, find surety.

"And just what does he know?" Murdoch asked softly, his voice soothing. "What can he prove? You said yourself yesterday that he and his parents are not on good terms. Would they truly believe him?"

"Ms. Ann knows of our meetings, and she would not hold back if such accusations are brought against me. I shouldn't have been so careless. I just…," she struggled for words, letting her eyes rest to meet his, a small sigh leaving her, "I have just found myself happier in your company in the short time I have known you than I have been in years…and I'm not thinking straight."

"I would have to say I agree—you are not alone." A small smile graced the corners of her mouth, making him to wish to see her full smile of the previous evening. "Is this all that troubles you? It would seem you worry too much." He raised his other gloved hand to soothingly stroke her arm still wrapped around his.

"You dismiss my feelings so casually sir?"

"Not in the slightest. I am merely attempting to help you see there are yet four days before we put in to New York. If your employer's son cares as little for you as your words suggest, he would use his knowledge at a time to hurt you the most. So it stands to reason you have several days left to enjoy."

"Or be worried sick."

"Does the prospect make you so unhappy as to not enjoy the present? Do you regret our meeting so much?" He fought to keep his voice steady, trying to and not show much her answer would mean to him.

"No, I don't regret our meeting at all. I wasn't lying when I said I'm happier with you than I've ever been."

"Then put away the worried governess and be the sharp, bright young woman who's stolen my heart." His soft tender words brought an overwhelming smile to her face as her head fell, feeling her cheeks flush. She desperately wanted to—to just be and live with this man. She longed to kiss him again, throw her arms around him and melt into him, but the not-too-distant laugher behind her reminded her otherwise

He tightened his supportive hold on her comfortingly, encouraging her to take a step forward with him, knowing they shouldn't linger too long in such an obvious location. He would take her in his arms as he wanted soon enough.

"Young woman indeed…," she lightly chided, her voice and heart lighter, resolved in pushing her fears aside, "I think you are blinded sir. Were I a privileged lady of society, I would be an old maid."

"Were you a privileged lady of society I doubt very much that we would have ever met. And you do not give yourself much credit—you are nowhere near an old maid."

"Then you must think me younger than I really am," she shook her head, trying to hide an embarrassed smile as they walked through a gate partition, the full wind in their faces, the point of the bow coming into view.

"Why does that concern you so?" He sent her a small, questioning smile as they stopped at a locked gate in the railing overlooking the forecastle.

"I don't want you to be disappointed." He looked at her like he was waiting for her to continue, but quickly turned to his trouser pockets, producing a ring of brass keys. She couldn't believe her words—all she could now think about was having his children. Would she be able to at twenty-eight years? Would sharing a bed with him to conceive be as fulfilling as she fantasized? She blanched at the turn of her thoughts, unable to believe she was actually concerned about bearing his children. They had discussed nothing of marriage and children. Though as she let her eyes turn back to him as he unlocked the gate to a staircase that extended to the decks below, she decided she would love the chance to get to know him so intimately.

"I doubt disappointed is a word I will ever use to describe you," a genuinely truthful smile crossed his face as his voice picked up in volume over the wind, "if you'd be so kind as to follow me down? I will warn you it's a bit steep, and the wind will be a little more brisk."

"Thank you for the warning. After you." She nodded with a smile, watching him wrap a gloved hand around both railings and start down the pristine staircase. She followed suit, feeling her dress skirt plaster to her legs in the head-on wind. Minding her feet as she descended, she let her eyes roam over the massive anchor chains, the majestic point of the bow and onwards to the blue waves beyond. So powerful, so beautiful.

Looking back, it was almost dizzying as she followed Murdoch down the steps that ended on the deck below, shrouded in shadows from the bridge. The cargo cranes loomed like imposing lords over their domains, almost making her nervous. Her eyes watered in the strong wind, hoping the pins in her hair would hold. The last thing she wanted was to be a disheveled mess in Murdoch's presence (unless it was by his doing of course). She reached for his extended gloved hand as she took the last two steps, retreating to shelter from the wind by the forward deck.

"I apologize for the wind," he folded his hand loosely over hers in a light squeeze, "it's always rather bracing."

"Certainly so." She let her hand linger in his as they moved towards the nearest railing. "I would imagine it's the same on the bridge? The wind unhindered in your face."

"Indeed. Coupled with the feel of the ship—the power, the freedom. There really is nothing quite like it." Her smile grew as she glimpsed the fond, even reverent look on his face. Slowly she pulled her hand from his, walking ahead of him to the railing, glancing over at the imposing crane and its looming shadow before leaning slightly forward to see the port anchor.

The breath caught in her throat as two hands fell to her waist, moving slowly across until his arms wrapped around her. Her smile grew tenfold as he stepped forward to press the front of his body to her backside. Feather light kisses fell to her neck as she leaned back in his embrace, tearing a sigh from her throat. Her hand rose to clasp his at her waist, melting further into him as she brushed skin, her fingers tracing slowly over the back of his hand, just feeling him. He spread his fingers, letting hers thread through his, finding the first touch of her skin sans gloves near maddening as he gave her hand a light squeeze, hugging her to him.

"Mmmm, William?" She near moaned.

"Will, if you please Lydia." His words danced across her skin.

"Will, you seem to have lost your gloves." She tightened their handhold for emphasis.

"Not a loss I regret." She caught a hint of his aftershave, breathing deep to draw him in. She turned her head to him, nuzzling his nose as he pressed forward, lips finally touching. Everything about this moment felt so far from chance and so close to perfection, it was near overwhelming. "I find myself uncharacteristically able to think of little else since kissing you last night," he confessed quietly as they broke their kiss, "I had hoped you would not rebuke me for a second attempt."

"I can't stop thinking of you, Will. You're all I want—I'm scared of losing you—need I make myself clearer that your affections are returned?" His lips stopped her rambling, igniting her body all over again, forcing herself to resist the longing timbre in his touch. She wanted to lose herself in him, pull him to a quiet corner, divest him of clothing and just feel him. "As much as I would love to stay in your arms," she forced herself to break from his lips, "I'm worried someone might see us. I do not wish to get you in trouble." She knew they had been lucky to have this stolen moment, but any time, anyone could look over the railing and spot them.

"No one will be looking for us here."His voice was soft in her ear.

"How about just you then?"

"Sixth Officer Moody was supposed to accompany me, but he has been detained by the captain for an errand to the engine room." He watched her eyes light up, a hopeful smile growing on her face in their tight embrace, an unasked question lurking in her eyes. "Don't even ask Lydia. I could most certainly not get you in the engine room without facing stern reprimand."

"It would certainly be fascinating, but I won't press you." She snuggled back in his embrace, resting her face against the side of his, drawing a relaxing breath. She turned from him to overlook the passing, endless dark blue waves of water. Slowly her eyes drifted down to their enclosed hands, the black of his jacket blending with her dress save for his gold cuff braid. Absently she raised her free left hand to trace the double lined and looped insignia, continuing on to his left hand, casually seeking out his ring finger. She brushed across it, wondering if she would come across a metal band. She couldn't help the smile that grew, knowing he was watching her.

"Did you think I was married?" His voice was low in her ear.

"I had certainly hoped not. But I've seen too many married men take mistresses on voyages, leaving unsuspecting wives at home." She clasped his hand in hers. "It is not meant to be a personal reflection on you by any means, Will. I just don't wish to be a second woman."

"In all fairness, I should tell you I was married—she was beautiful and wonderful. I have never claimed to love anyone as much as her." His voice held a long accepted pain that tore at her heart, his eyes growing distant as she turned to face him.

"May I ask what happened…?" She ventured nervously, not wanting to cross her bounds.

"I was off at sea, and received a letter where she wrote to me of a persistent cough. I returned home four months later to the news of her passing. We had been married just three short years when the good Lord decided we were to part." She squeezed his hand, feeling him return the tightened hold.

"Oh Will, that's heartbreaking. To not even have been there, to say goodbye…I cannot imagine." His eyes dropped closed, seeing only the image of his beautiful Ada, before swallowing hard and returning himself to the present.

"Afterwards, I had never counted myself lucky enough to find someone else who stirred my heart as she did. But I meet you, have you here now, and I'm willing to reconsider that thought."

"I…I cannot even compare. I've lived most of my adult life in a girl's school, now caring for a child not my own. You're the first man to ever return my affections," she realized her cheeks were flaming, unable to stop her rambling, "you are my first kiss, first embrace. And it's—it's thrilling and exciting—and god, you must think me such a child, so hopelessly in love. I told you I didn't want to disappoint you. But how can I ever hope to capture your heart and hold your interest with no world experience to match your own?" She stared at him, heart racing nervously in the silence between them, feeling him give her hand a gentle squeeze.

"I find as long as there's love, there is hope. I still have love for my wife, and I do hope to see her again one day. Now, I have grown to love time in your company, and I'm surprisingly hopeful for the future."

"But we've only just met." She met his eyes straight on in their still tight embrace, impressed by the caring resolve in his sharp eyes, a light sigh escaping her as she relaxed more into him. She couldn't wait for his answer, leaning in for another kiss, feeling him hold back and let her have control. Lost in the feel of his lips, her tongue moved forward, tentatively brushing his lips, finding them pliable under her touch. He tightened his embrace as their tongues touched and intertwined, his breathing growing heavy. Gradually she pulled back, breaths matching his as they stood together, bodies humming, not wanting the moment to end.

"We should continue forward, love." His accent thickened on the whispered words, lips falling soft to her cheek as he slowly unwrapped his arms. She smiled after him as his still bare hand sought hers, twining their fingers together as they started across the deck towards the door to the interior of C-Deck. Her eyes strayed upwards, running up the length of the forward mast, spotting the crow's nest before craning to see the top, clinging to Will's hand.

"How high is the crow's nest?" He looked up on her question without realizing it as they came to a stop.

"About ninety feet from the water." She lowered her head, squinting at him incredulously.

"Are you making that up? Or do you really know?"

"Mr. Maxwell, whom you met the other evening, told me. He rambled off some formula relating the length of the ship to some required distance the lookouts need to see. To be truthful, the man had been drinking a bit and his words were a bit slurred, so I don't rightly remember the details." Her laugh sounded above the wind overhead.

"His accent was quite thick sober the other evening. Anyone would be hard pressed to understand him slurring." She let her amused smile linger, not seeing any reason to hide it around him anymore. With a quick squeeze he dropped her hand, reaching to his pocket for the key ring. Deftly he undid the lock on a flush door, cranking down the lever before the door swung open, ushering her into a white, simple enameled entryway. He closed the door behind him, trying not to notice the fall of her smile as she watched him pull his official gloves back on.

"This is a third class entrance, if you haven't deduced by the décor." He said quietly as they moved from the entryway into the simple corridor, the white paneling still present with pipes along the ceiling and red painted floors.

"I've not seen the onboard third class accommodations." She said simply as she followed him down the corridor, glancing at various signs—'Sand Locker,' 'Crew's Galley,' 'Carpenter's Shop,' 'Seaman's Mess.'

Murdoch came to a stop outside an inconspicuous door surprisingly not labeled. His key ring made another appearance as the lock fell free in his hand. He pushed it open, stepping into a brightly lit room, before motioning for her to follow. A series of massive wenches and giant chains greeted her eyes as they widened, clearly impressed.

"Look at the size of those windlasses."

"More properly they're cable capstans." His tone was politely smug as he came to stand alongside her.

"A cable capstan?" The words were foreign in her mouth as she turned to him curiously.

"You, with all your ship knowledge, are not familiar with a capstan?" He asked incredulously, watching her eyes narrow playfully.

"And you, with your vast years of naval experience, are being rather arrogant about it, sir." An amused smile softened his face, watching her reciprocate.

"A capstan is nothing more than an appliance that winds a chain around a barrel. These, I believe, are steam driven."

"Steam diverted from the main engines I suppose?"

"I can only assume." She shook her head in near disbelief, marveling at the sheer size of the sight before her.

"Man has always dreamt so big, and it's simply amazing how we can fabricate such things into reality. A chain link looks almost as long as I am tall." She walked around the main capstan to get a better look, Murdoch close on her heels.

"I'd wager two links are as long as you are tall, my dear," he started, glancing over the chain appraisingly, "you are taller than you give yourself credit." She brushed off his comment, but not before he noticed her cheeks slightly reddening.

"I should love to see them in motion. I read in the paper the main anchor required twenty horses to pull it to the shipyard."

"The capstans here are for her port and starboard anchors, significantly smaller than her main. During capstan motion, the only people allowed down here are the lamp trimmer and storekeeper." Her brow crinkled as she turned to him. "To spare you a repetitive question, the lamp trimmer and storekeeper's quarters are in that room off to your right." She spun on his words, mouth agape as she took in the small room.

"Crew members are situated this far forward? It seems so inhospitable."

"Crew members are rarely afforded the niceties of third class passengers. The company doesn't need to necessarily provide for their employees as they make no money off them. Passengers need to be catered to so they keep returning to spend money. Crew members just get the leftovers."

"For such a prestigious position, you sure don't speak of your profession well."

"It's a hard life until you reach a high enough position, and majority of shipboard crew members do not have such opportunities for advancement. Most are usually forced to quit because the conditions become too harsh."

"Surely there has to be easier ways to make money."

"There are indeed. But companies recognize the less than desirable conditions, and pay handsomely for it."

"Even for a first officer?" Her brows quirked in playful curiosity, watching a slight flush overtake his cheeks at her implied question.

"Handsomely enough. Even more so as Chief Officer."

"Chief Officer?" Her smile widened, an almost proud gleam coming to her eyes. "Are you in line for a promotion sir?"

"Of sorts," he gave a polite nod of his head, "my original assignment aboard was Chief Officer, but as soon as we put into New York, my previous position will be restored." Her heart both leapt and sank. How fitting for him to receive such a prestigious promotion, yet what would happen to her? Surely any hope of him giving up such a life for her was pointless. But maybe he would want her to join him?

"How…how long will you remain in New York before the return voyage?" She had to broach the subject, hoping there was enough familiar comfort between them.

"A few weeks I believe. Time enough to refit the ship and taken on new cargo." He watched her face cloud over with realization, returning to its earlier haunted look, heart begging him to ask questions he wasn't sure he wanted the answers to. "What are your—namely your employer's plans—after arrival in New York? Assuming you stay in their employ, of course."

"They haven't rightly said," her voice held a sad note, "I know we've come to America for the social season, but I don't know where all they intend to travel on the mainland." Her head fell as she bit her lip, the heavy weight of reality crashing down. "And here we are—I am again—faced with the uncertainty of reaching port, of Jonathon telling or not telling his parents about us. As happy as I am here with you now, is equally as miserable I feel when I think about being parted from you so unwillingly." He closed the distance between them, raising an arm to rest comfortingly on her shoulder, unable to stop it sliding slowly down her arm, acutely aware of the men who might enter at any moment, returning their quarters.

"Just as above, I do not pretend to have answers, nor do I intend to make you promises I cannot keep, but again I say we take these next four days for ourselves to enjoy and decide where our hearts lie when we must."

"Even with such heartbreaking thoughts on the horizon, I have never wanted to be with anyone more than you. And if we decide—everything else aside—parting ways is best in four days, you will always be someone I treasure." His other arm twitched to pull her flush to him, claim her mouth, love her as he wanted. Steeling his resolve, he indulged in just a chaste kiss to her lips before stepping away. He watched her fight away the pained look, forcing a small smile to her face.

"I had a question actually, from earlier…before we got distracted," she voiced the question, finding it a nice distraction, pointing towards the enclosed room Murdoch earlier identified as crew member quarters. "Why does Titanic have a lamp trimmer when she is outfitted with electrical lighting?"

"Regulations require ships to carry oil-fired masthead lights. Mr. Hemming is onboard to ensure the lamps are ready for use should we need them for safety purposes."

"Safety… ? For avoiding collisions, or to gain attention if we were sinking?"

"A masthead light won't do any good for catching a ship's attention at a distance. If we were—hypothetically, of course—sinking, one more light on the mast would not gain us anything. The masthead lights are mainly used in foggy, overcast sailing weather. _Titanic_'s lamps have yet to be used."

"I would imagine that is the case for most items onboard. You are too kind to keep showing me such restricted areas."

"You deserve no less." He watched her smile grow, loving the faint note of embarrassment underneath just barely restrained happiness. His heart swelled to know he was the cause of such feelings for her. He couldn't believe she had worked her way under his skin and into his heart so quickly. In the past two years since Ada's death, he had never met another woman capable of so firmly holding his attention, and sadly he couldn't shake the impending feeling of loss as he thought on all her words about the voyage's end. He watched her silently as she continued to glance around the forecastle, a smile ever present on her face.

Was this going to be yet another woman fate would take away from him too soon?


	6. Saturday, April 13th cont

**I continue to be humbled and awed by the warm responses to this story-I'm ecstatic that so many of y'all are enjoying this! Many, many times thanks! And thank you for your patience-I apologize for the delay-life and holidays happen-but never fear that I have abandoned this or any of my stories once started. I refuse to leave a story unfinished (baring an act of God, of course). Words cannot truly express how awesome y'all are, so without further ado, here's the next installment. Please enjoy & thank you so much!**

**And I must say it gets a little mature towards the end, but nothing too graphic/explicit. If you disagree, please let me know & I will remedy the situation.**

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><p>"<em>I still don't like this ship. I have a queer feeling about it." – Chief Officer Henry Wilde, in closing to a farewell note to his sister <em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Saturday April 13<strong>**th**** (cont.) **

—5:12 pm—

Murdoch was thrilled to see so many passengers openly enjoying themselves on deck. Playing games, strolling, telling stories, laughter on the breeze. The early colors of twilight painted the white body of the ship in pleasing hues, and for the first time in years he was perfectly content with his place in life. Every voyage before this had been about something—calming nerves in a newly appointed position or straining to impress in hopes of the next promotion.

But as he strolled now, on his way to the officer's quarters, he wished for nothing different. Without the (temporary) demotion, his schedule would not have timed out for meetings with Lydia. Without the addition of Wilde, his free time would have been severely limited. Without the grandeur of _Titanic_, he and Lydia would never have met. He had heard it said, finding it especially hard to believe after Ada's passing, that God has a plan for everything. But now he was actually starting to believe it.

He drew one last breath of crisp ocean air, taking in the sun sparkling on the water before pushing open the door to the officer's smoke room. The familiar scent of Lightoller's vanilla pipe tobacco instantly reached his nose, Moody's voice in the air.

"The lady would just not be calmed. She continually blamed me—claimed me lazy and worthless—when there was nothing to be done." Charles' laughter cut through James' words. "She even demanded I stop and turn the ship around."

"Oh that is classic," Charles mumbled around the mouth of his pipe, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "Will, ol' boy! Where the devil have you been?"

"Routine walkthrough of the forecastle." Will pulled his tie loose, undoing his top button.

"You've been bloody well gone for over an hour," Charles' voice was laced with surprise, "why didn't you get Joseph or even James, here, to tend to such a thankless task?"

"Oh come now Charles," Will lightly scolded, crossing the room to the desk, reaching for the decanter of scotch, "surely you recognize the benefit of performing such mundane tasks yourself every once in a while. Staying in tune with the ship and the like."

"Rubbish," Charles dismissed, setting the pipe between his teeth, "only on occasion are such tasks necessary," he paused to exhale, relishing the taste, "yet you seem to perform them with increasing regularity on this voyage." Will couldn't help the smile that crossed his face at his friend's warm, suspicious tone.

"Actually I was tasked with the forecastle walkthrough," James admitted, "but the captain detained me to the engine room instead, hence the episode on the aft steerage deck." The clank of the glass decanter sounded on the end of James' words.

"Episode in steerage?" Will asked curiously, raising the amber liquid to his nose for a deep inhale.

"Mmm yes," James' voice dropped from amused to annoyed, "a woman's hat blew off her head in the breeze and over the railing before it could be reached. She saw me in passing and demanded to know what I was going to do about it. She insisted the ship had to be stopped and her hat recovered. I believe she's threatened to report me for my lack of cooperation." Charles' laughter again sounded in the room, Murdoch's light chuckle mixing in.

"That is a pretty good one," Murdoch agreed, taking a quick sip, the liquid burning its way down his throat, "and steerage no less. I would expect that more from a first class passenger."

"The hat belonged to her mother or grandmother, or some family connection," James recalled with a faint shake of his head, "I don't rightly remember. The lady spoke in a heavy French accent that wasn't always easy to understand." Murdoch let loose another amused chuckle moving from the desk, tumbler in hand to sit on the couch opposite Charles and James. "Speaking of such language barrier experiences…," James started again, looking between the two senior officers curiously with a smile, "I hear tell you two have quite a story on the Portuguese coast." Will and Charles' eyes locked across the room, both trying to keep an embarrassed tinge from their cheeks.

"Now who says that?" Will asked at length, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Harry might have mentioned something in passing." James couldn't keep the smile from his face as Lightoller turned to him with wide eyes.

"Did he now? And just what exactly did he mention of our story?" Lightoller's voice held amusement despite the surprise in his eyes.

"He didn't give me details—said I had to ask one of you—bet me a few pounds that I wouldn't do it."

"Well we'll certainly tell him you asked," an amused smile spread to Will's face on his words, "can't have you being cheated."

"I do very much appreciate that sir, but I still want the story…" James looked expectantly between the two older men, Will's face hesitant while Lightoller's was alight with open mischief.

"We were serving together on the _Medic_, returning to England from our run to Australia, when the weather turned stormy," Charles started casually, "the engine hatches weren't closed properly and flooded in the waves that drenched the deck, thus damaging the engines. We were forced to put in off the coast of Portugal for the night."

"The wireless operators had been tirelessly at work relaying messages trying to find the nearest repair part so we could continue underway—we'd been away from our wives for months, and being stranded so close to home was maddening." Will added, providing more background.

"Through all of that mess, the part we needed—some sort of gauge, if I remember correctly—wound up in Nazaré. The captain, in his infinite _wisdom_—"

"Give Cardham his credit, Charles." Will lightly scolded.

"Sent us both ashore the night before we were to retrieve the part," Charles continued unfazed, "in a lifeboat, no less. The ship wasn't outfitted for casual trips ashore in shallow ports." He paused with a shake of his head, regarding James' eager eyes as he drew a breath of his pipe. "So we reach shore—by some miracle, in the middle of the night—"

"God, that rain," Will shook his head, a smile on his face as he reminisced, "you wouldn't believe it James—it came sideways, even up from the water. The ship herself had damage from high waves, and it was truly a wonder we didn't swamp or end up dashed against the rocks."

"The benefits of a sandy coast," Charles resumed, "so we reached shore on the beach, having completely missed the harbor. We're both absolutely waterlogged, beyond drenched, tasting nothing but rain and saltwater. We grabbed our overnight bags that would take another week to properly dry out and trudged into town. We wound up at some tavern inn—"

"Senhora da Taberna Oceânica." Will effortlessly supplied watching both James and Charles turn to him clearly surprised.

"You speak Portuguese?" James had to ask.

"I took it upon myself to learn a little after this fiasco…no thanks to Charles here."

"You can't claim you know Portuguese half as well as I know Spanish." Charles dismissed, a playfully pouty tone to his voice, taking in Will's almost challenging smile.

"So you found yourselves at the inn...I hear this is where it gets better." James couldn't help his smile, wanting the end of the story that Harold refused to tell.

"Have I been boring you James? Did Harold tell you all this?" Charles turned to James, words formed around his pipe.

"Not with near as much detail, nor the commentary from both of you."

"Ah yes," Will's voice held an amused, knowing tone, "all Charles' stories are to be taken with a grain of salt."

"Not this one—all true—I swear to God, and you damn well know the truth, Will," Charles shot the slightly older man a quick glare before turning back to James, "so we found ourselves at the inn, and I am fluent in Spanish—"

"So I completely believed him when he told me he could speak Portuguese too since the languages were so similar. Don't ever make that mistake, James."

"We get a room secured for the night, and the man at the counter asks if we would like some drink sent up to warm us up."

"You know," Will cut Charles off, "Portuguese for 'drink' and 'women' sound nothing alike."

"Oh no. You didn't…" James turned to Charles with a laugh, watching the second officer give a quick nod.

"Of course we could have used a drink to warm us up after such a drenching trip," Charles continued as James shook his head, eager to hear how the rest played out, "so we're up in our room, peeling off our soaked uniforms—down to our skivvies. Will here's even out of his undershirt—when there comes a knock on the door." James couldn't hold back a laugh.

"We assume it's the tavern keeper with our drinks, so we think nothing of our state of undress…." Will trails off, feeling his cheeks flush as he all too vividly remembered what happened.

"The door opens," Charles continues, almost hesitantly, "and there stand two, scantily clad, well-endowed women." James outburst laugh, unable to conjure such an incriminating image of the two men in his head.

"They might as well have been wearing nothing at all," Will shook his head as though trying to shake such memories from his mind, "their shifts were practically see-through."

"They bounced into the room, fully convinced of their purpose…," Charles trailed off, shaking his head almost amusedly, "it was only several minutes later, after much mixed shouting and swearing in English, Spanish and Portuguese, that they finally left. But not before they managed to wrangle my undershirt off, and maybe even managed a hand down Will's—"

"Absolutely not Charles!" Will cut in over James and Charles' shared laughter. "Spreading such nonsense will only surely land you in trouble with Sylvia, sooner if not later."

"Yes, she would have my hide for that one…as Ada would have for you I'm sure." The lightheartedness fell from Will's face at Charles' mention of his wife's name, though his smile still remained.

"Oh by now, I think she knows Charles. I have nothing to hide." James drew a deep breath, trying to reign in his laughter.

"That is quite something. I would never have you two pictured for something so incriminating." James glanced between the senior officers, almost hoping he would have as good a story one day.

"Believe me, I will think twice before ever trusting Charles' advice again." The sentence continued on in Will's mind: _especially if I marry again._ His mind instantly settled on the lovely Lydia Marsden. Were they married, would he have to hide such tales from her? Or would her smile crinkle the corners of her eyes as she laughed, her eyes seeing only him? He thought back to their words this afternoon, remembering their agreement not to force anything of their relationship for the remainder of the voyage. But now that he actually let his mind linger on the fact, he realized marrying her brought a prospect of fulfilling happiness that he had sorely been missing. But was it too soon for such thoughts? After only two days? A small smile graced his face as he realized he didn't care—he knew how he felt about her, and if thoughts of spending his life with her filled his head, so be it.

"Rough walkthrough?" Charles' question shook him from his thoughts, watching the second officer study his tumbler and loosened tie, knowing it contradicted the relaxed, even peaceful look on his face.

"Not at all." Will took another sip, forcing his thoughts down. "Why do you ask?"

"Reaching for the scotch at such an early hour makes it appear as though you've had a bad day." Charles and James watched the wistful, private smile grow on Will's face.

"You know regulations as well I," Will narrowed his eyes almost playfully, "this is the last chance I have to drink until after my watch."

"Mmmm," Charles pursed his lips thoughtfully around his pipe, "that's why you should take up smoking and let go your drinking," a fresh wave of vanilla smoke filled the room, "there's no rule to say you can't have a smoke within four hours of your watch. And I find it equally as relaxing." They watched Charles' eyes fall closed as he indulged in anther tobacco filled breath.

"James, you're on second dog watch tonight, yes?" Will asked casually.

"Yes. Joseph and I will join you on the bridge at midnight."

"Where is he currently?" Will's brows quirked curiously over his glass.

"Napping, I believe. But he probably needs to be woken." James rose from the couch, smoothing out his jacket.

"Yes," Charles agreed almost lazily, "I have plans for you two tonight, and would prefer him to be somewhat cognizant." The three men shared a light laugh as James reached for his hat, earlier discarded to the couch armrest.

"We shall both be ready for whatever you throw at us Charles." A confident smile crossed James' face before he turned to Will with a quick nod. "I will see you both on deck later if not sooner."

"So long James." Will tipped his head and glass in farewell as James disappeared into the hallway, leaving the two senior officers and close friends alone with their vices.

"So I overhead a fascinating story from the Chief Officer yesterday evening." Charles started amusedly.

"The Chief Officer?" Will questioned sardonically. "Are you refusing to even say his name now?"

"There's never been any love between Henry and I, Will, and you bloody well know that. No, this story is about you." Will froze almost nervously under the knowing, suspicious gaze of his friend. "About you, a lady, and a knot."

"Oh please," Will dismissed absently, taking a big pull, "everyone knows I am not the fastest at tying knots. And in all fairness, the lady tied a bowline earlier in our meeting, and that exercise was my first knot tying in months."

"Wilde said you would probably say that, trying to make an excuse." Charles laughed lightly with a shake of his head.

"I don't claim any excuse, merely stating the situation as it was. I have no doubt Wilde played it up so I would get jabs from you lot. But Miss Marsden—assuming it's a knot she actually knows—could give any of us a run for our money."

"Miss Marsden…," Charles rolled the name off his tongue almost pensively. "How'd you come to meet her?" He watched Will bite his lip almost unsure, as if deciding just how much he should say.

"She's a governess traveling with her employers. Our initial meeting occurred when her charge ran into me on the first day of the voyage. She subsequently asked me a randomly amusing question about shipboard mattresses—"

"Mattresses?" Charles interrupted incredulously.

"Harold said the same thing when I told him," Will shook his head almost dismissively, "I have met up with Miss Marsden occasionally since our original meeting, and she continues proving herself to be fascinating company." He didn't register the warm, caring tone that came to his voice, piquing the second officer's interest.

"Careful Will," Charles' voice held a light tone of warning for the slightly older man, "if I didn't know you better, I'd swear you were fond of her outside a professional setting." Will straightened his head, eyes settling to Charles' as the second officer leaned forward, taking his pipe in hand.

"I certainly don't intend to give that impression, Charles." Charles wasn't sure he trusted the man's words, but wasn't about to go blabbing to Wilde. The fewer occasions he had to speak to the man, the better. But secretly, he almost hoped it was true. Will could use some light in his life, something to distract him from work. Charles knew since Ada's death, Will devoted himself entirely to the job. And if there was even a chance another woman had broken through to the first officer's heart, Charles wasn't about to be the one to ruin it.

"Well I didn't mean any offense old friend," Charles' words held a dismissive air accented by a light smile that the other man returned, "if you do meet up with her again, I should be most interested to meet the lady who has bested you. But for now, I should be off. I know Wilde is not overly fond of my pipe tobacco, so I should like to go corner him in the chart room for a bit while it's still fresh." Will laughed softly over his glass.

"Very well Charles. Just don't put him in too foul a mood. I don't enjoy being in the middle of your personality conflict."

"Admit it, you like being in bed with both of us," Charles rose with a knowing smile and light laugh, "you get to gossip to the other about things the other has said, and it keeps us all amused, if not incensed at times."

"I won't deny it." Will met Charles' amused smile. "I'll come find you after dinner."

"Just make sure Wilde actually leaves the mess before you temporarily relieve me, please."

"Beggars can't be choosers Charles."

"So they say."

"Joy of your watch." Will raised his glass in salute as Charles loosely saluted back moving for the hall door.

"See you on deck Will." With a quick nod, Charles disappeared out in the hallway, leaving Will in the quiet peace of the smoking room. He knew Wilde would join him once Lightoller relieved him, lighting up a cigarette and complaining of the 'unbearably suffocating odor' of the second officer's pipe tobacco.

Glass of scotch in hand, with two good friends who despise each other, and a woman warming his heart, Murdoch began to wonder if things could really get much better.

—7:53pm—

"Lydia?" She turned at Ms. Ann's voice, stopping her walk through the sitting room.

"Yes ma'am?" She fixed the older woman with a small smile.

"Where are you off to this evening?" Ms. Ann set her novel aside on the couch, folding her hands in her lap, peering up at Lydia over her birdlike nose. "Surely not meeting again with that officer?"

"I was venturing to the library ma'am. I was hoping to find something interesting to pass the night." It wasn't an outright lie since she had agreed to meet Murdoch there for their usual eight o'clock meeting.

"The library?" Ms. Ann scoffed, almost in surprise. "Is that not for second class passengers?"

"I was informed it was available for first and second class passengers." The look of disgust remained on Ms. Ann's face as she regarded Lydia wearily.

"Be careful down there, child. We wouldn't want you getting sick on us, now would we?" Lydia pursed her lips in a tight smile, hoping to give nothing away.

"Is there anything I can get for you while I'm out ma'am?"

"From second class? Heavens no, dear. Just run along, and hurry back. You know how upset Emily can get if she wakes and you're out."

"Yes ma'am." Lydia nodded dutifully, quickly slipping out in the hallway, wondering how much trouble she would be in later for being gone so long for such a supposedly simple trip. She sighed as she moved down the ornate corridor, brushing everything aside, letting her thoughts settle on the meeting ahead of her, of spending an hour with the man she loved.

By now, she fully accepted she loved William Murdoch. This afternoon alone had proved it—when at her most upset and uncertain, he made her smile, her heart melt and body come alive. She would willingly trade everything if it meant being with him always, seeing his face every day, hearing his voice. As she continued towards the library, she couldn't help but wonder if she voiced her sentiment, would he reciprocate? Would he profess his love and desire to be with her always? Or was it simply too soon?

That thought alone was almost terrifying. It had only been three days and she wanted to commit the rest of her life to this man. But maybe that was why it felt so right. She found she really couldn't question it because it flew in the face of all logic. But how could something that makes her so happy not possibly be real or meant to endure? She drew a deep breath, heart aflutter as she reached for the library door, opening to a heavy oak paneled room with pale yellow light splashed on the walls.

She noticed his trim figure almost instantly as he sat with his back to her in a low-backed chair, seemingly reading something in his lap. She glanced around quickly, slowly walking up behind him, surprised he hadn't heard her enter since no one else was in the library. Seeing him in the low light cemented everything she felt about him, longing to tell him, longing to hear him return her sentiments. In a smooth motion, she placed both hands on his chair back, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling his muscles shift to let a smile come to his face.

"Good evening Lydia." His voice was quiet, a note lower than usual from recent disuse.

"Good evening Will." She nuzzled his cheek gently before pulling back, watching him stand, book forgotten, eyes seeing only her. He closed the space between them, effortlessly fitting their lips together, the heady, reassuring pressure of the caress intoxicating. His eyes opened to see the unguarded smile on her face at the kiss' end, knowing he always wanted to see her as such.

"I know I just saw you three hours ago, but...it's still good to see you again." She wanted to drown in his eyes.

"You as well, my love." He whispered, accent pronounced on his soft words as he leaned in again to kiss her cheek, seeking her hand for a tight hold. She loved the almost rough texture to the skin, surely a testament to the years he spent working his way up to such a high-ranking position.

She felt his hand tighten in a comforting squeeze, unable to stop her mind from wondering just what his strong hands would feel like moving over her body, down her breasts, along her thighs. A ripple of heat settled deep between her legs at the thought, feeling a flush come to her cheeks. She could only hope she would have the opportunity to find out.

"Well I thought we might stroll about the decks tonight. Enjoy the evening air?" He started softly, tucking her arm under his as they moved through the empty room. "I always seem to drag you down into the ship, depriving you of the warm weather and clear, starry skies."

"I don't mind at all. Time spent with you—above or below decks—is always enjoyable. Surely you know there's nowhere else I would rather be when I'm with you." He gave her hand a final squeeze before dropping it to reach for the door knob, admitting the bright corridor light. She squinted as her eyes adjusted, stealing glances over to him as they walked along the corridor, giving away nothing about the nature of their meeting or relationship.

But as he held the deck door open, admitting the warm, salty sea air, she hoped for it to be different one day. To be able to stroll the deck as Mrs. William Murdoch, free of care about jeopardizing her position or his. Free to let the world know that yes, they do love each other. She didn't realize the wide smile on her face as she continued to stroll along beside him, missing his observant eyes and smile growing to mirror her own.

"You look quite happy tonight." He commented casually. "Much happier than when we met this afternoon."

"I am, yes," she admitted softly, "much more so."

"May I ask why?" She cast him a small smile before turning her eyes skyward with a peaceful sigh.

"I've let myself become lost in fantasy," her head fell, eyes landing on the smooth deck, knowing she should be more embarrassed about her words, "I'm happy on the 'what if's' of life, yet thoroughly enjoying my present company, finding him at the center of my fantasies…if I'm not overstepping my bounds to say so." She felt her cheeks flame, hoping he wouldn't take offense. The silence between them lingered, making her worry until she glanced over, noting the conflicted look on his face. Her words had instantly conjured to his mind all manner of different scenarios, each one ending with her under his hands, his name on her breath, forcing him to fight back the warm ripples in his gut.

She forced herself to look away from him, knowing volumes needed to be said between them, yet the couple approaching them on deck needn't know anything. She offered up a smile and a nod, hearing Murdoch offer a 'pleasant evening' as they passed by the older couple. The continuing ensuing silence was near maddening.

"Stand with me a minute, won't you?" She looked to him with a hopeful smile, moving for the deck railing. He willingly followed, working to push his increasingly pleasant though maddening fantasies aside. There was no reason for this to appear as more than a simple conversation between officer and passenger. She sighed softly, resting her arms against the rail, bare hands pale in the faint light against the black of her dress.

Careful to stand just far enough away, he stopped beside her, resting his arms likewise on the rail, discreetly letting his fingers brush hers. He watched her smile widen at the touch, turning briefly to him, her eyes alight with star light and deck light. God, she was beautiful and her smile intoxicating. If he let his guard down, it would give everything away. She turned from him to overlook the dark purple, near black horizon, the stars bright above and the black waves beneath.

"I would give almost anything to kiss you in this moment." His accent thickened on his near whispered words, threatening her composure as she reigned in her growing smile.

"Almost anything…,"she repeated softly, "would you give up the sea?" His face set to its familiar serious lines, eyes begging hers for open honesty. She hated to ask, but the answer would tell her everything about how willing he was to act on his feelings for her.

"Would you ask me to?" Secretly, he had waited for and absolutely dreaded this moment. Every woman's heart had a price, and this was usually the currency.

"No Mr. Murdoch, I would not," she answered simply, not faltering under his gaze, taking a different approach, "if anything…I would want to go with you if I could." A distant, happy tone settled on her words. "To travel the waters, work as a stewardess or maid on my officer husband's ship, it—." She froze, a fierce blush coloring her cheeks as she realized her words. "Forgive me Mr. Murdoch, please. After our discussion this afternoon, I did not mean to presume—"

"Oh you didn't, did you?" He jabbed with a mildly amused yet serious tone. "Then forgive me, Miss Marsden, for finding your suggestion rather agreeable." Again she froze, this time not believing her ears. "Rather convenient to have both the loves of your life together."

"The sea and your wife?" She asked quietly, her heart fluttering, turning back to meet his eyes.

"Indeed," he said quietly, eyes trained to the horizon, "I'm a widower, as you know. And at my age, with my profession, I had discounted ever meeting a woman again for courtship and marriage. Yet I find myself here with you now, however, and the chance, the opportunity seems so real, I can't let it go…nor you." She wanted to lean against his shoulder, fall into his arms, feel his lips again, but remembered their current position.

"Even after only two days, good sir?" She asked softly, her words on a rushed, nervous breath. "I find my head filled with similar thoughts, yet it's only been two days, and we agreed no decisions for four more yet. I fear I have gone crazy—no man has ever found his way into my heart so deep, so fast. I find I have grown to love your company more than anyone else's." His ears perked on the word 'love', turning to face her, his urge to kiss her near overwhelming, yet he kept his professional distance. "I think I would be willing to quit my employ for you, Mr. Murdoch upon reaching New York. If you'll have me, I would have you always." He moved his hand against hers in the darkness, feeling hers move to allow a loose intertwining of fingers.

"I'm afraid you'll find victualing a bit below your educated status my dear." He whispered near quietly, loving her soft, instantly stifled embarrassed giggle. "Nothing need be decided tonight. Still yet, we have four days until we arrive in New York. The other officers and myself are stateside for a week while the ship is cleaned and restocked…." He trailed off, as if suddenly lost in thought, casting a quick glance back towards the ship before turning back to her, eyes alight with a slight mischievous, pleased sparkle. "However, if I may…Miss Marsden, would you care to follow me please?"

"But of course." She answered softly, hoping she hadn't sounded too eager to any passersby, as he stood to his full rigid height. He turned from the railing, heading for the middle of the deck with her close on his heels. He effortlessly opened the nearest, inconspicuous door, holding it open for her as she stepped inside the stairwell, careful to keep her smile small.

"How far down?" She asked as he closed the door behind her and they descended the decks in the narrow, crewmen's stairwell.

"D-Deck." He simply said as they kept walking, not speaking further. She stepped off onto the landing, glancing around the dimly lit corridor. The bustling sounds of the kitchen could faintly be heard, but other than that, the area appeared to be deserted.

"Where are we?" She asked curiously, glancing around at the pristine hallways lined with simple doors.

"The hospital wing," he simply said, looking between the room numbers as if trying to remember what each one held. "The hospital is not manned in the evening hours, and the surgeon is roused if he is needed for an emergency. Everyone is currently at dinner I do believe." She smiled as she glanced around, feeling oddly excited as though she were breaking the rules, following him through the door he decided to open.

A small exam room greeted them on the other side, one wall lined with glass front cabinets, displaying bottles and tins of various kinds, a bed tucked against the other wall underneath a porthole. He closed the door behind her, reaching for the lamp on a bedside table, bathing them in a soft yellow glow.

"Why are we here?" Her curiosity got the best of her as she asked the question, watching him study the contents of the cabinets.

"I have something I want to give you."

"Something from in here?" She couldn't believe his words, glancing around incredulously, wondering what the hospital wing could possibly have that she would want. He opened a cabinet, reaching for a tin and moving over to the table with the lamp. She watched in the silence as he opened it, pulling out a bandage roll. Still without acknowledging her question, he reached in his pants pocket and produced a small knife, folding it open to reveal the sharp blade and proceeding to cut a small strip of the bandage roll.

Instantly her eyes fell to her hands, wondering if she'd somehow cut herself and he noticed. Seeing nothing, she turned her eyes back to him, confusion knotting her brow as he pocketed the knife and walked over towards her.

"Lydia Marsden, consider it a sign of my willingness, a promise to you," he gently took her left hand in his, tying the loose strip of bandage around her ring finger, "that if you so choose to remain in New York and leave your employ for me, you shall have all the love and devotion I can give, till death do us part." Her eyes fell closed, fighting back welling tears as his fingers deftly tied off the small knot.

She clasped his hand in hers before he could pull back, opening her eyes to meet his, finding them only a hairs width apart. She craned her neck, tilting her lips up to his, finding a solid response. Kiss after kiss flowed between them, lips never parting, tongues teasing for openings before finally getting their wish. She stepped into his arms, feeling his body encircle hers, never feeling so secure in another man's presence, her hands tracing lines on the back of his stiff jacket. She moaned softly into his mouth as his hand trailed up her spine, teasing the bare skin on the back of her neck. Slowly, almost unwillingly, he pulled his lips back, resting his face against hers, drowning in her ragged breaths that matched his, content to just hold her tight against him.

His arms fell away and he stepped back, missing the confusion, even sadness in her eyes, as he rolled up the remaining bandage and placed it back in its tin. She stared after him in complete disbelief. How could he pull away so easily? Wasn't he just as spun up as she was?

"What time does your watch start again? Ten?" She asked, surprised to find herself so nervous. She knew what she wanted, yes, but did she have enough courage to actually ask him?

"Yes, ten. But I need to be on hand around 9:30 to ensure a smooth changeover." He placed the tin back in the cabinet, securing the glass door. He turned around to meet her eyes, loving her flush cheeks and near dazed expression.

"What time is it now?" She asked, watching as he went for his pocket watch.

"8:25. May I ask why?" He resettled his coat over the watch, watching her war with herself. What if she asked and he rejected her? He had backed away from their embrace just moments ago after all. She let her eyes settle to his, squashing her doubt, resolve steeling her eyes. If this bandage around her finger meant anything, it meant she could trust him with anything. She couldn't stop the smile on her face as she neared him, giddy with excitement and love for him, unable to believe she was about to do the unthinkable, in fact, the downright scandalous.

"Will you stay here with me?" She asked softly, surprised her cheeks could burn any redder, as her hands settled to his tie. "Will you take me in bed with you?" His eyes fell closed at her hot, whispered words, fighting for self control. Truthfully he wanted nothing more than to run his hands and lips over every inch of her skin, and feel her hands on him in return.

"Are you sure now's the time?" He forced himself to ask. "You're not under any pressure to make a decision. Would you rather not wait for a wedding night?" He felt her fingers sliding down the knot of his tie, knowing he was fighting a losing battle.

"No Will, I'd rather not wait. I've waited my whole life and now I found you," she pulled the short end of his tie free from the knot, threading it free from his shirt collar. "I'm not going to let you go until I have to." She leaned in, placing a kiss to the skin beneath his ear as her fingers started on the brass buttons of his jacket, surprised at her own boldness.

Of course he thought of his career, his position on the ship, knowing something like this could get him an immediate discharge. Yet still his hands rose to her hips, pulling her in closer against him as she peeled back the sides of his jacket, running her hands along the fabric of his shirt, rocketing waves of long brewing desire through his body. He knew at any moment an emergency could occur and the world would descend upon the hospital wing. Yet his fingers settled to buttons on the back of her dress, lips crashing against hers, palpable want thick between them.

Gradually the layers of cloth between them fell away, leaving behind only anxious smiles, treasured kisses, whispered words only for the other and tender touches. His hands traced her skin through the thin shift with such care as though she were a rare delicacy, loving the catch of her breath as he thumbed across her breasts. The faint scent of soap enveloped her as she slid his shirt from his shoulders, letting her lips fall to the newly exposed expanse of skin.

He couldn't believe this woman was willingly here with him, letting him settle beside her on the mattress, running his hand up her leg under her shift. She arched her body into his, nervous, not sure of the exact motions despite her novels, trusting him implicitly. A moaning breath left her, vibrating against his lips as his hand came to rest high on her inner thigh. He was so _close_ to where she wanted him most.

"May I ask you something?" He whispered against her lips, nuzzling her cheek, followed by another kiss.

"Anything Will. Surely you know that." He couldn't help his smile as he continued to nuzzle and taste her skin, letting his fingers trail circles high on her thigh.

"Have you ever experienced 'le petit mort'?" She felt her cheeks flush on his words despite their intimate setting, knowing just what he meant.

"No…." Her admission was small, almost sheepish, and she chided herself for suddenly feeling so ashamed, sighing lazily as his lips continued to travel her skin, letting her hands roam his torso.

"Then I shall be honored to bring you to your first." He pressed a final kiss to her neck, moving his head back to meet her lips, feeling her melt and relax against him. Slowly his hand drifted the rest of the way up her thigh, settling gently into a rhythm of downward dips and teasing circles. She fought to keep breathing at the onslaught of sensation his hand caused, draping her body over and around him, clinging to him for dear life.

Her gasps worked higher, coming faster as her body tightened around his slick fingers, his lips against her skin coaxing her release. His name issued from her lips in short breaths as a curse, as a prayer, tension mounting deep within. White light exploded behind closed eyes as the tension broke, waves of ecstasy rocking her body as his hand slowed its ministrations, feeling him move to envelop her in a tight hug.

She trembled against him, fighting to recover her breath, trying to slow her pounding heart. He held her tighter, committing to memory the image of this beautiful woman wrecked with pleasure by his hand. She pulled him with her till she lay back against the bed, feeling his welcome weight atop her. She sought his lips in the light, eyes glazed with euphoria, feeling his hard want so prominently against her thigh. She swallowed almost nervously, nuzzling his nose.

"Does it hurt?" Her voice, soft and unsure, sent a fierce wave of possession down his spine, never wanting to share this woman with another man.

"At first, I'm told. But it fades quickly." She nodded quickly, her eyes settling to his, loving the care in their crystalline blue depths, loving this man more than she thought she could. "We don't have to do this," he whispered quietly, kissing her shortly, leaving his lips to hers, "you've already given me a precious gift. And if I have a say, no other man will ever see you as such." She tightened her hold on him, never wanting to let him go, ready to welcome him fully.

She ran her hands down his bare torso, stopping at the drawstring of his shorts only to be met by his own hand. Together, they slid the last barrier between them down his legs as he shifted to meet her body, kisses growing short and fevered with anticipation. She gasped sharply, body stiffening as he pressed gently forward, slowing his passage in effort to ease her discomfort. Her eyes wrenched shut at the pain, clutching him tight as she reigned in her breathing, feeling him continue to stretch her walls, peppering her with tender, reassuring kisses. She sighed deeply, lips locking together as he settled his full length inside her. One small rock of his hips and the pain gave way instantly to mind numbing pleasure.

Steadily, his hips built a rhythm of need and want, plunging them both into indistinguishable moans and gasps, just craving each other. Coherent thought fled her mind and her world consisted only of him as his pace increased, delicious tension curling insides again. He clasped her hand in his, desperate to claim this woman, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. A final hard thrust and release engulfed him, stilling his movements and making his breath catch. Her heart pounded in her ears as never before, her chest moving rapidly to draw short breaths as he collapsed atop her, letting her arms and legs wrap around him fully.

Tears threatened her eyes, unable to hold back the euphoric smile. For years she thought she knew what love was, all thanks to those ridiculous novels, but here he was, and it was greater than she could have ever imagined. She stroked the back of his neck, feeling the thin sheen of sweat that had formed from his efforts, turning her head to let her nose brush his cheek. He turned his head that rested against her shoulder, meeting her glazed eyes and sated smile. A slow, gentle kiss passed between them, each content to bask in their shared glow.

"What I wouldn't give to meet you in your quarters after watch and do this again." She said quietly, watching his smile fill out, matching her own.

"We can't my love, not yet." He returned her soft tone, raising a hand to brush against her cheek.

"Every night spent without you till then will seem wasted."

"It can't be helped love. If we were caught now, it would be the end of my career, and then where would we be?" She nodded in agreement, understanding the unspoken message on his words. Sharing a last lingering kiss they rose from the bed, taking care to smooth out any evidence of their presence, each dressing quietly, stolen kisses falling to exposed skin as assistance was granted doing buttons or straightening shirt collars.

Not near enough time had passed before they stood fully clothed, face to face as she threaded his tie under his shirt collar. Deftly she took the ends, looping them under and around until a perfect half-Windsor knot formed. Meeting his slightly confused and impressed look with a sheepish smile, she slid the knot up until the tie tightened around his collar.

"How ever do you know how to do that?" He couldn't help but ask. If he was indeed the first man to share her bed, how did she know how to dress one?

"Mr. Hays' man showed me one slow afternoon years ago. Said it was a skill I should learn to impress my husband." Her cheeks flushed over the word as she smoothed out Murdoch's collar, making sure he looked fully respectable with no hint of their previous activities. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, loving the return of her modesty after seeing her completely bare and raw before him.

"To say the least I am impressed," he said quietly, drawing her close one last time before leaving, "it is something I should like to wake up to every day."

"Don't expect me to always tie your tie for you sir." She jabbed playfully, bringing her arms to mirror his hold, not knowing when she would get to hold him again next. "I'll see you tomorrow, yes?"

"Of course love. I don't know when yet, but we shall be in touch."

"I love you Will." After everything they'd done, she finally spoke the words every action had proved.

"I love you Lydia. More than I hoped to find again in this life." One last kiss passed between them in their private sanctuary before he stepped back, enclosing her hand in his and moving for the door.

The dim hallway held a faint chill that made her shiver as they worked their way up the staircase, taking care to drop their handhold before stepping out onto the deck. A few passengers, having finished dinner and partaking in a nightly stroll, sent curious glances and smiles their way as they emerged on deck.

"Thank you for your assistance Mr. Murdoch," she said with a polite tip of her head, "you have been most kind."

"My pleasure miss," he bowed his head to mirror her movements, "I hope the rest of the evening is to your liking."

"Same to you sir. Goodnight." With a final smile, he turned from her, swiftly moving along the deck, headed for the bridge and his watch. She couldn't help the giddy smile that threatened to overtake her as she thought on the last hour with him and his confession of love for her. For _her_. Never had she counted herself so lucky as to find such happiness.


	7. Sunday, April 14th

**I apologize for the extreme delay. I knew this story would take time to post as it was, and sometimes life just gets in the way. These next few chapters should come out much closer together (hopefully only a week or so apart!). **

**Thank you so much to all who keep reading and encouraging me to finish this! its wonderful to know people want to know how the story ends, and it drives me to write other stories to someday share. I hope you continue to enjoy the journey! **

**Thanks again! Please enjoy!  
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><p>"<em>Have Cape Race [Newfoundland] relay a message by transatlantic cable to White Star in London. Tell them that <em>Titanic_ is damaged and heading for Halifax. Repairs at Harland and Wolff might be necessary." – Captain Smith to Harold Bride moments after striking the iceberg _

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: Sunday, April 14<strong>**th**

—10:01 am—

The delicious soreness that tinged her muscles as she awoke had just about worked itself out of her body. Her heart had never felt so light and free, nor had it ever been so hard to rein in her smile and maintain the reserved servant position. She wanted to abandon her duty, throw caution to the wind, and kiss Will in public. She was in love, with the promise of a wedding, and shared a bed with the man of her heart. The whole situation was one big tantalizing secret that as much as she longed to tell, she was equally as thrilled to keep it only for herself.

Catching her smile threaten to widen again, she drew in the corners of her mouth, turning to glance back towards the lounge. The service should be ending any moment as she strained to hear the words of the benediction. She hoped to squeeze in a quick hour of lessons before lunch since Jonathon had plans to take Emily under his care this afternoon for a swim in the pool. Lydia's eyes had sparked with remembrance of her and Murdoch's first real meeting as Mrs. Hays mentioned Jonathon's plans. Any time talk of _Titanic_'s appointments floated around her, her thoughts always turned to her handsome officer. It would be impossible to forever separate to the two.

The click of the lounge door handles grabbed her attention as she folded her hands behind her back, waiting for the Hayses to emerge from the crowd of people. It was moments like these when she felt grossly underdressed, admiring the shades of delicate colors and fabrics the women of finery possessed. Granted, her wardrobe was far above that of an average servant, but servants were allowed to wear little else than black or navy with white accents.

Maybe someday she could indulge in some color or something soft and smooth. Something that Murdoch would long to touch so she could tease and deny him until the last minute of sanity…. She quickly bowed her head, biting her lip to contain a smile, chiding herself for such inappropriate thoughts on a Sunday morning outside a church service.

She looked up, eyes instantly (involuntarily) settling to the object of her thoughts, tipping her head in polite greeting as his eyes met hers. Unwilling to avert her eyes, she watched him walk towards her, hands behind his back as he came to a gentle stop.

"Good morning Miss Marsden."

"Good morning to you, Mr. Murdoch."

"I trust it finds you well?" She struggled to keep her face neutral.

"Much better than that, thank you sir. And yourself?"

"I find it has been years since I slept so contentedly." His eyes spoke volumes his words could not in their current setting.

"I'm sorry to have missed your reading in the service this morning."

"There was nothing to miss. Public speaking is not one of my fortes." They shared a soft laugh.

"Pardon my intrusion Will," they both turned as another officer approached, a warm smile on his face, "but the lady and I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, and I have to wonder if she is your famous passenger with the insatiable curiosity who beat you at the bowline?"

"Indeed Charles," Murdoch turned back to Lydia, "Miss Lydia Marsden, may I introduce Second Officer Charles Lightoller."

"Pleasure to meet you sir." She tipped her head in polite greeting.

"You as well Miss Marsden," he met her head tip with his own, "it seems you are a woman to be commended for besting Will here. I hear he has devoted his free time to showing you about our fair vessel, and spouting incessant details of her design. I do hope he hasn't bored you to death."

"Hardly Mr. Lightoller. As Mr. Murdoch has heard me say, this ship is truly a marvel of our modern age and he has been most gracious to continue to indulge my interest and curiosity. "

"Its fascinating a woman of first class should show such interest in something so common." Lightoller commented with a smile, understanding Will's desire to spend time in her company. The genuine admiration in her eyes was enough to draw even him in.

"You are too kind sir," her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, "I am merely a governess whose father designed ships. I don't look for special treatment but Mr. Murdoch's attentiveness has been greatly appreciated."

"Really, you go too far Miss Marsden," Murdoch tipped his head in embarrassed deference, "it is my duty as an officer to ensure passengers are treated well onboard, and if I can personally see to any such activity, my duty is more fulfilled for it."

"Well spoke Will," Lightoller agreed, trying to discern something from the shared smile between his friend and the lady, "but if you'll both excuse me please, I'm needed elsewhere. Pleasure to meet you miss."

"You as well Mr. Lightoller." He met her smile with his before turning to Will.

"See you on deck Will."

"You too Charles." The second officer turned from them, threading through the crowd.

"A personal friend of yours? Or merely a colleague?" Lydia asked with a small smile, eyes alight with loving curiosity.

"Charles and I have been friends for many years. We've held positions on past ships together and we have passed many sleepless hours on watch, or swapping stories in the smoking room."

"Oh to have been a fly on the wall," she said with a light smile, excitement lacing her words, "I'm sure you both have stories worth telling and sharing."

"And many that do not bear repeating." She laughed softly, a sound that Will wanted to hear forever. "I wonder, Miss Marsden, if you'll do me the honor of meeting in the library this evening around eight? I have located some books and drawings that I think you'll find of great interest."

"I would enjoy that very much Mr. Murdoch, thank you. Eight o'clock it is."

"I look forward to it, and regret that I cannot keep our usual four o'clock meeting due to circumstances beyond my control."

"I'm sorry to hear that but I quite understand." She offered a reassuring smile, ignoring the little pang that cut through her on his words. Her first free afternoon and sadly, she wouldn't be able to spend it with him as she was hoping.

"I hope the day passes smoothly for you, and I shall see you tonight." He bowed his head politely, eyes never leaving hers.

"Thank you, and for you too sir." She met the thankful bow of his head with one of her own. "Until tonight Mr. Murdoch." He longed to pull her in, kiss her sweetly, or even simply brush a kiss to the back of her knuckles. But either would be far too personal and give everything away. Each of them respected their position far too much to do anything so unseemly at the moment. He forced himself to turn away, nodding politely to those who met his eye as he moved through the remaining church crowd to tend the chores of the day.

She watched after him, letting her smile go unguarded, a soft sigh passing her lips.

"Well that was enlightening." She tensed on the voice, knowing it was the one man she didn't particularly want to see.

"What was sir?" She said uncertainly turning to face the crisp, knowing eyes of Jonathon Hays.

"'Sir' am I now? I seem to recall you were so much freer with your words and person yesterday."

"Very well Jonathon," she forced herself to keep her words polite, "what can I do for you this morning?"

"Originally I had wanted to inform you I plan to spend the afternoon with my sister down at the swimming bath."

"Your mother had previously informed me."

"However I notice you in conversation with two officers, one of whom—the one from the lounge, Murdoch I believe—cannot keep his eyes off you." Jonathon did not miss the blush rising to Lydia's cheeks. "Looked at you as if he knew your heart, knew what you looked like in your most vulnerable form, and wanted you still." The bandage around her left ring finger felt hugely prominent as she processed Jonathon's words, trying to discern his mood.

"I—I don't know what to say." She plainly admitted, not shying away under his scrutinizing gaze as his eyes widened in surprise. Here was the proof he was sorely lacking from their 'deal-proposal' breakfast yesterday.

"Lydia! Lydia!" Emily's little voice cut through the thick pause between them, jarring them both. "Can we go play?" The little girl's left hand rested atop her lace hat, the other firmly ensconced in her mother's hand as they approached.

"Lydia, do not let the child get too mussed up. We're set to dine with the Wideners and Astors in little over an hour." Mrs. Hays cautioned.

"Actually ma'am, I had intended for an hour of study before lunch since Miss Emily is to accompany Mr. Hays to the swimming bath this afternoon."

"No Lydia!" Emily protested, her smile falling.

"That should be fine," Mrs. Hays dismissed casually, "just don't be late to the Café Parisian. I know how you tend to lose yourself in academic pursuits."

"Of course not, ma'am," Lydia bowed her head quickly, "Miss Emily shall be there on time."

"Jonathon, I trust you have plans?" Clara Hays turned to her son.

"But of course mother. I know how I embarrass you so around your friends."

"Jonathon, don't make jokes. Your father and I shall see you later, yes?" Jonathon tipped his head in affirmation.

"Yes mother, please don't fret." With a final near glare at her son that then fell on Lydia before she turned away, Mrs. Hays moved off to find her husband, a big smile instantly gracing her face as she neared the small crowd. She was such a lady of appearance, it was almost painful for Lydia to continue to watch.

"Come along, Emily. Your studies await." Lydia reached for the child's hand.

"Do I have to, Lydia? I'm supposed to play with Jonathon."

"You're supposed to play with Jonathon after lunch. There is still time to tend to your studies that would otherwise occur this afternoon."

"But you and I haven't finished yet Lydia." Jonathon's cool voice stole her attention from the child.

"I'm afraid for now we have, sir. I have my duties I must tend to. Emily, bid your brother adieu so we may be off."

"Bye Jonathon. I can't wait for you to teach me to swim!"

"I look forward to it as well Em." He offered his sister a smile before turning to Lydia with nothing more than a pursed mouth nod of the head, his eyes an unresolved storm. Before she could linger on it further, she took Emily's hand, heading from the lounge entryway back to the stateroom.

—4:12 pm—

The faint scent of ginger and cinnamon wafted in the air as Lydia settled back against the sitting room couch. The teacup steamed before her, giving no indication of its alcoholic contents. After months of searching for the perfect combination of spices to hide the smell and marry the flavors of tea and whiskey, heavy on the ginger with a pinch of cinnamon was her favorite. It loosely reminded her of ginger ale with the welcome robustness of whiskey.

As saddened as she was to not pass the afternoon with Will, as she had so far done on the voyage, she didn't realize until the first sip just how much she had missed her daily drink. Though with Will around, it had been so easy to forget the need for alcohol to fill a void, and for the first time in her adult life, Lydia could say she truly happy, wanting nothing more than Will and a life with him.

Her eyes darted to the bandage strip around her finger unable to suppress a smile. It represented everything she hoped for in the future and she couldn't wait to reach New York. She laughed softly as she imagined the look on the Hayses faces when she told them the news. The gentle click on a door handle jarred her from her thoughts, looking up to instantly meet the strict face of the housekeeper.

"Good afternoon Ms. Ann." Lydia inclined her head with a smile from where she sat indulging a sip of her spiked tea.

"Good afternoon Lydia," Ann's stiff skirts rustled over her words as she moved to sit, "I'm surprised to see you here actually taking tea like a civilized person for the first time in days."

"Yes well," Lydia set her teacup in its saucer with a soft clink, "I had plans to continue the ship tour but Mr. Murdoch had to attend to the requirements of his duty."

"Mr. Murdoch," Ann spit the name out almost disgustedly, reaching for a teacup and the kettle, "the man's eyes are too close together, Lydia. You should not be so quick to trust him."

"No harm has befallen me under his care, Ms. Ann. You shouldn't be so quick to judge. I had a lovely evening with him the other night." Lydia struggled to keep her smile reserved as she recalled how _lovely_ an evening it had been, making sure to refer to Friday's meeting, lest she receive a lecture about being absent so late last night.

"Dear child, don't you dare presume to scold me for my instincts about people. I have spent more time on this earth and pride myself on being something of an excellent judge of character," Ann missed the slight furrowing of Lydia's brow over her proud smile, "I know an untrustworthy man when I see one, and Murdoch fits the bill. He was hiding something about your meeting the other night. I can just feel it." A placating smile came to Lydia's face, confident there was no way their activities could be discovered.

"Oh Ms. Ann, you worry too much. Mr. Murdoch has enjoyed sharing company with a passenger who is genuinely interested in the ship's appointments, rather than just feigning interest."

"Oh sweet, naïve Lydia," Ann dismissed condescendingly as she shook her head, "that's what he wants you to believe. I saw how he was looking at you the other night—typical sailor—hungry for just one thing from a woman."

"What?" Lydia froze, masking her instant displeasure.

"And that's why I forbid you to go with him on another so called 'ship tour.' It's only a matter of time before he corners you and steals your virtue, and I won't have your innocence compromised on my watch. What if you were to have the man's child for god's sake?"Actually, given that it could now be a possibility, she had thought about it. Honestly, it was almost exhilarating. Marriage would be soon on the horizon and no one would be none the wiser. Will knew the way of things and if he had been opposed to the possible consequences, he presented himself as a man with control enough to stop things before damage could be done.

"You're wrong about him Ms. Ann," Lydia said calmly, almost pleadingly, "and please I beg you to watch Emily tonight for a time—"

"Absolutely not, Lydia," Ann interrupted, her tone firm, eyes pointed over her bird nose as she sipped her tea, "your job is to mind the child, not mine. I have indulged you for the last few nights, but no more. I would hate to have to go to Mrs. Hays with news of your negligence. You're a good, sweet girl and wouldn't be able to handle life outside the Hays' protection." Lydia's shoulders slumped, her head falling to stare at the swirls of spice in her tea, resisting the urge to retort.

The rational part of her had to admit Ms. Ann was right—she was only aboard to do her a job, and she had effectively been skipping work. Despite her feelings, her duty to the Hayses should have come first. She drank a big gulp of tea, welcoming the distracting alcohol burn.

"Dear child, don't look so upset," Ann offered a small, unsympathetic smile, "all this naval talk isn't good for you anyway. I find enough literature around the house as it is, and that's not a subject for a young lady to study. Someday when you're a virtuous, gentile married lady, you'll thank me for this. Your husband certainly will."

A million responses ran through Lydia's mind. Did she dare mention how Will had promised her life as her husband? Or dare tell how her 'innocent virtue' was already compromised by said man's touch? She knew she should lie and agree with Ms. Ann if only for the sake of keeping the peace. But as Lydia continued to sip her tea, unaware of her white knuckled grip on teacup, she wondered if agreeing would even solve anything.

"Why heavens child, what happened to your finger?" Ms. Ann's sharp eyes honed in on the bandage tied around her finger. Lydia's eyes instantly settled to her makeshift wedding ring, fighting to hide an embarrassed flush.

"Just a small cut. Nothing serious," she offered, forcing a small smile to her face, "I didn't see the sharp end of a screw in a stair railing. The doctor wasn't too concerned."

"Doctor?" Ann froze with an uncertain glare.

"Yes, at the shipboard hospital. Mr. Murdoch thought—"

"And to think he assured me—you assured me—no harm would befall you."

"It wasn't anything he caused or could have prevented. Accidents happen, Miss Ann."

"Then all the more reason for you to stay in for a quiet night with Emily." Ann sat back against the couch, convinced she'd made her point as Lydia continued to force herself to keep her mouth shut. It was just one night after all. If they had the rest of their lives together, what was one night? "How are the child's studies faring?" Ann's question jerked Lydia back to the present conversation.

"They are going well," Lydia knew she sounded distracted, but couldn't bring herself to care, "she's a bit distracted on this voyage, with her brother and all."

"Ah yes, the younger Mr. Hays," Ann said, taking another sip, "there's another one not to be trusted.

"So Mr. Hays informs me." Lydia said quietly, words aimed at her teacup. Apparently none of the men in her life were to be trusted. Shouldn't she be allowed to choose who she trusted? Who she loved?

"Mr. Hays informed you, did he?" Ann's teacup settled to her saucer with a started clink. "Did Jonathon try his charm on you, poor dear?"

"'Try his charm'?" Lydia repeated the words harshly. "The man has done nothing but turn my head at every gathering for the last four years. To say he tried his charm, yes, would be an understatement. To say that it worked and I wanted to give in, would be even more of an understatement." Ann's eyes widened, near bugging out of her head. "Mr. Hays hinted I wasn't the first and I can only assume the rest." Emboldened by her security with Murdoch and the taste of bourbon on her tongue, she leveled Ann with honest eyes. "If I asked you, would you answer me plainly?" Ann's eyes didn't falter from Lydia's as she let go a reluctant sigh, face falling.

"Clara and I never wanted you to know," Ann started softly, "but yes, Jonathon's a man of loose morals. There's never been any public disgrace, and he's still very well received, but Mr. and Mrs. Hays don't prefer to keep his company."

"So then how do they know of Jonathon's so-called loose morals? If he's never been disgraced or caught—."

"Dear girl, you don't have to discover someone in the act to have a feeling about them. It's the little things you notice—a hand touch that lingers, a smile that is shared too long." Lydia thought back to their Thursday and Friday night encounters.

"Jonathon and I have shared similar without carrying it further."

"Was this before or after Mr. Hays issued his warning?"

"Both, truthfully."

"And yet you still let him charm you?" Ms. Ann's eyes widened incredulously. "Don't you see Mr. Hays doesn't want you to fall into his son's trap?" Lydia's brow furrowed over her tea, trying to put everything together.

"But I fail to see the trap," she bit her lip, trying to sort out her thoughts, "if the Hayses have only ever seen such interactions, who is to say they don't go further? Perhaps he puts it on and lets his parents assume the rest? He may really be no less virtuous than you and me, but he wants to appear that way."

"No man should ever want to appear as such. Besides," Ms. Ann paused for a sip of tea, "he drinks." A closed mouth smile came to Lydia's face, silent laugh leaving her.

"Please Ms. Ann, I drink," Lydia admitted softly, "and I know you, Gregory or perhaps Mr. Hays himself drinks—I found a stash of gin buried in the kitchen pantry some years back." A faint blush came to Ann's cheeks as the two women held a shared gaze.

"Yes, well, to each their own," she brushed off her embarrassment with a dismissive shake of her head, "and Mrs. Hays need never know."

"On that we agree." Lydia raised her teacup in silent agreement as Ms. Ann followed. Drinking in the rough bourbon and soothing ginger, Lydia couldn't help but think about Jonathon. Was there really more—good or bad—to the man that he kept secret? With Ms. Ann confining her to the stateroom tonight, maybe she would just have to find out.

—7:58 pm—

Grace Gregson closed the stateroom door behind her, moving for the next cabin. B-51. The women would return from dinner in the hour to retire for the night and the men would convene in the smoking rooms. But for now, it was quiet and most all the cabins were empty which suited Grace perfectly. She preferred to go about her business unnoticed, lest she do something not fully to a passenger's liking. She raised her hand to knock gently on the stateroom door before opening and slipping inside.

"Oh, good evening ma'am," she dropped a nervous curtsey, startled by the presence of the older woman in the sitting woman perusing a novel. "Would you care for me to turn down the bed?" Why was this woman here? She hadn't been here the last few nights.

"Dear girl, I am a servant such as yourself, awaiting the return of my lady, so yes, go about your job." Grace curtsied again quickly, moving nervously about the room under this woman's intense glare. The door to the bedroom Grace knew to the child's opened off to her side, admitting a woman about her age, dressed in severe yet fashionable black. Her face was drawn, eyes heavy and melancholy as she approached.

"I have a task to ask of you first," the woman before her ignored the glare from the woman on the couch, holding out a small note to Grace, "if you'll deliver this, please. Officer Murdoch is to be found in the library currently." Grace couldn't hide the surprise that widened her eyes over Murdoch's name. She couldn't believe this woman trusted her so.

"Yes ma'am." Grace answered nervously, meeting the woman's eyes and taking the proffered note, feeling the weight of a few coins fall into her hand.

"On your life, do not read it." The older woman's eyes widened over the younger woman's words.

"Of course not ma'am. Do you expect a response?"

"Only if he wishes to send one."

"Very well, ma'am. I shall return at once." She curtsied to the young woman before moving for the hallway door. The bright lights made her squint at first as she moved through the corridors, thankful she actually knew where the library was.

Not that she could ever admit it, but she was dying to know the nature of this note for the first officer. Was it possible for him in all of his upstanding, unfaltering professionalism to be carrying on a secret love affair? Had he and the lady in black planned some romantic rendezvous? Was the lady married? Grace's mind harkened back to all the stories other maids told, unaware of the wistful smile on her face as she knocked gently on the library door before pulling it open. She didn't miss the fall of the officer's hopeful smile as he realized it was not his lady in black.

"Officer Murdoch?"

"Yes?" He questioned stiffly.

"I have a note here for you, sir." She quickly curtsied, holding out the paper. He crossed around the couch, unfolding the note and feeling his heart leap as he read.

_My Love—_

_I pray you can forgive me for writing and canceling our meeting, but I cannot escape my duties this evening. My thoughts are with you as I sit by my charge's bedside, wanting only the pleasure of your company, to hear your loving words and feel your tender touch. I hope the morning finds you well and I wait on baited breath till our next meeting. _

_Yours lovingly,  
>LGM<em>

Grace watched the smile grow on the officer's face, lessening the severity of his features. Maybe she was right in assuming it was a love note.

"Do you wish to send a response sir?" He glanced up as if considering her question.

"Yes, I think I will." He stepped over to the nearest desk, finding a pencil and pad emblazoned with the White Star Line emblem. She did her best to hide her watching eyes, yet hoping to catch a glimpse of some of his written words. Even if the notes were harmless in nature, it was much more intriguing to imagine herself in the middle of a passionate love affair. Given the distant, small, yet steady smile on the officer's face as he wrote, she knew she wasn't far from the truth.

"Please give this only to the lady who asked you here." He handed her the folded slip of paper which she gratefully took, almost eager now to return to the lady in black.

"Of course sir." She dropped another curtsey, turning quickly from him back to the bright hallway. Oh wouldn't the other maids be jealous of her tonight! Grace Gregson: role player in the secret love affair of Titanic's first officer! She was nearly giddy by the time she reached B-51.

The young woman in black's face lit up into a smile as Grace produced the note, doing her best to mask her own excitement. Grace watched the lady's hand rise to her mouth as she read, trying to hide an overjoyed smile, eyes shining with what Grace knew just had to be love.

_My Dear—_

_You need never apologize for tending to the requirements of your station. I am all too familiar with the obligation to one's duty. Though I am saddened to not pass more time in the presence of your beauty, I know it is only one night with the rest of our lives ahead if we so choose. And I do—I choose you above all others to share in my days. I await our next meeting with fond anticipation. _

_Yours always,  
>WMM <em>

"Thank you." The lady in black's face had lost all its earlier wistfulness, replace with excited hope.

"You're welcome ma'am." Grace wanted tell her she was happy to deliver good news, that she wished them all the best in their love and all the happiness in the world. The woman in black nodded quickly before retiring to the child's room, leaving Grace with a feeling that somehow she understood the unspoken message.


	8. Sunday April 14th cont

**Sorry its closer to two weeks, than a week...but steady as she goes. Thanks everyone for staying tuned-I'm so glad y'all are continuing to enjoy! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. Its a bit of a different perspective and view of the sinking events, based on the book I spoke of in Chapter 2.  
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**Please enjoy!  
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><p>"<em>COME AT ONCE. WE HAVE STRUCK A BERG. IT'S A CQD, OLD MAN. POSITION 41.46 N, 50.14 W." –Jack Phillips to <em>Carpathia_'s telegrapher, Harold Cotttam _

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><p><strong>Chapter 8: Sunday April 14<strong>**th**** (cont.) **

—11:38 pm—

She wasn't really focused on her book. Emily was sleeping softly and Lydia kept waiting for the telltale opening of the hallway door to signal Jonathon's return. She glanced at the clock wondering just much later the man would carry on. She herself was usually in bed by this hour, but tonight was different. Tonight she wanted answers.

Letting go a soft sigh, she turned back to her book, instantly freezing. Everything was shaking—her chair, the floor, the contents atop the dresser rattled loosely against its polished surface. Her heart stopped as she glanced nervously around, just feeling everything shudder. Certainly this wasn't normal?

It stopped just as suddenly as it started, leaving only an eerie silence and her pounding heart, every sense heightened, in its wake. Had _Titanic_ hit something? Had she thrown a blade? Engine trouble? Right away she longed for Will's steady presence but was willing to settle for Jonathon's if it meant she was no longer alone.

Casting a quick eye to the still sleeping Emily, she left the bedroom, unable to stay put, needing to see if she could see anything. The sitting room shone only with the light of a small fire as she moved for the private promenade deck, shivering in the surprisingly cold night air. She walked to the window open to the sea, glancing up and down the length of the ship, hearing only the gentle lapping of waves hit the hull. She strained her eyes in the darkness, not able to make out anything the ship might have hit. Were they simply just stopping for the night?

She sighed a nervous, shivering breath, rubbing her arms as she walked back to the warmth of the sitting room. The eerie silence remained, making her actually miss the soft, constant hum of the engines. She stopped at hearing the click of the door handle, drawing a relieved breath as Jonathon appeared.

"Lydia?" His brow narrowed almost concernedly. "Are you alright? You look almost ghastly."

"I'm alright, yes, thank you," she answered uncertainly, "I'm just nervous. Did you feel the ship shudder several minutes back?"

"Of course. A group of us were in the smoking room when our glasses rattled and the chandelier shook." A nervous knot tightened in her stomach. "I came here to make sure everyone was alright."

"I don't think your parents are aware of what happened. No one has since woken up." He nodded silently on her words, casting a quick glance to the closed doors. "Do you happen—"

"No," he interrupted softly, voice unsure, "I don't know any more than you."

"What should we do?" Their eyes met in the small room, a thin smile ghosting about his lips.

"I don't know if there is anything to be done really," Jonathon crossed more casually into the room, "I doubt we're in grave danger though. Maybe an engine malfunction? From what I hear, you're supposed to be knowledgeable about these things." She shook her head silently, watching him reach for his coat pocket.

"Not quite, Jonathon. I know how they're designed to stay afloat, not how to troubleshoot them." She didn't even register her unguarded use of his first name, eyes settling to the silver flask he produced. "Is your flask brandy? Scotch?"

"Whiskey." He missed the surprised smile coming to her face as he took a drink.

"May I?" His face narrowed confusedly, looking from his flask to her, tentatively holding it out.

"You drink Irish whiskey?" She crossed the space between them, taking the proffered flask, downing a welcome swig. The numbing warmth filled her throat, working to relax her nerves. She lowered the flask, feeling her cheeks flush from both the alcohol and the perplexed look on Jonathon's face.

"Yes, to answer your question. For years." She admitted softly, taking another quick sip. "Though I prefer American whiskey, Irish will certainly do right now. My flask is hidden in your sister's room."

"And to think of all the years we wasted not sharing a nightcap together." Jonathon chucked amusingly, taking back his flask for a drink.

"That sounds dangerously unwise."

"Then what are we doing now?" He offered his flask back.

"Calming nerves? Commiserating?" She smiled up at him, indulging in another drink.

"I'd drink to that." She handed the flask back, watching him cap and pocket it.

"Did you really come back to check on us all?" Lydia couldn't stop herself from asking. She was on edge just enough and relaxed from the whisky that she didn't care.

"Despite outward appearances, I do actually care about my parents."

"It certainly seems at times they don't care for you."

"That's a gracious way to put it."

"Your father made things clear Thursday night, but then we met again Friday, and your offer yesterday morning," she shook her head, almost embarrassed, "but this afternoon, Ms. Ann cast doubt on everything I thought I knew about you." His eyes fell to hers, finding herself unable to break their hold.

"What do you think about me?"

"I don't know," she answered softly, "I thought you only wanted to…use me. But despite all the talk that has only happened, and so suddenly I might add, that I can't help but wonder if it's for your parents benefit." He couldn't stop the slightly embarrassed, certainly impressed smile.

"You are indeed perceptive Lydia," he admitted, "it is far easier to gain their disapproval than approval, as you may have noticed. Before Emily was born, and even after I gave up what I wanted, they were no closer to accepting. So it's much easier for them to think me a drinking, womanizing rogue."

"But eventually you'll have to set the record straight. However do you plan to accomplish that?"

"There are many years left before peace needs to be made between my parents and myself, but I thank you for your concern."

"They why tell me so plainly?" She watched a mischievous spark come to his eyes.

"Will it not make it easier to continue the charade if you know I'm not trying to just use you, as you put it?"

"But you still are using me, just in a different sense. And after your father's warning, I dare not continue warming to you, charade or not, at the risk of my position."

"Then what was Friday night?" A flaming blush crept to her cheeks as she struggled for words.

"I was—a moment of weakness. For years I believed myself in love with you, only to find out I didn't know what love was. You were right Thursday to say I'd been watching you. I was foolish to think we could have ever had anything real. I see that now—I'm still just a little girl in so many ways despite my age….." She trailed off, cheeks somehow burning redder, head falling in the embarrassed wake of her rushed words. How could he ever be expected to respond to that?

Warm fingers fell to the underside of her chin, gently lifting her head till their eyes met, a warm smile on his face. Before she could react, he closed the space between them, lips soft and sure against hers. A loud knock pounded on the door, making them jump in their embrace, as a steward flung the door open without announcement.

"I apologize for the late hour of my intrusion," the steward didn't bother to pause his rushed walk, moving for the wardrobe, "but I must ask everyone to come topside with a lifebelt. I would also recommend warm layers, topcoats and hats. It's frightfully cold out." The steward returned with a stack of lifebelts from atop the wardrobe closet, just now looking to Jonathon and Lydia, who stood frozen, eyes wide with shock. "Is it just the two of you?"

"No sir, my parents and sister are asleep." Jonathon calmly answered, Lydia marveling at the evenness of his voice.

"Wake them, please sir, and do hurry. Then all you please come topside, captain's orders. And do take a lifebelt." The steward gave a farewell nod, quickly moving for the door and disappearing down the hall to the next room. Lydia's heart clenched in her chest, half tempted to run to the bridge for Will's embrace.

_Captain's orders_. Were things really that bad? What happened to rouse the captain during Will's watch? She met Jonathon's eyes, the torrent of confusion and unanswered questions visible in her eyes.

"What do we do?" She asked quietly, voice small and lost.

"We do what the man said. Wake Emily," he turned from her to his parents' door, "mother? Father?" He rapped loudly on the wood, disappearing inside as Lydia moved for Emily's room.

"Emily? Come on Emily, wake up." Lydia forced a calm note to her voice, shoving her own worries aside to not upset the child. "Come on Emily." Gradually the little girl stirred, cracking an eye in the low light.

"Lydia…what?" Her voice was muddled with sleep, words ending on a yawn.

"I need you to get up and dress. The captain is ordering us up to the deck." Lydia turned with a robe in hand, Emily's topcoat in the other.

"Lydia, don't you dare!" Mrs. Clara Hays' voice cut through the silence as she burst through the open door, the picture of rumpled displeasure in her dressing gown and free flowing tresses.

"Mumma?" Emily sat up sleepily, looking to her mother worriedly.

"There darling, there," Clara cooed, moving to stroke Emily's hair as the little girl hugged her about the waist, "back to sleep with you, dear. Nothing to be concerned about."

"Nothing to be concerned about?" Lydia repeated the words, disgusted. "It's captain's orders to go topside. Something happened to the ship—"

"Do you want to scare the child?" Clara interrupted with a stern glare.

"The child or you, ma'am?"

"Watch your tongue this instant," Clara snapped, "I don't know if you realize just how much of a fool you're making of yourself, carrying on like this."

"Mother please," Jonathon appeared in the doorway, face exasperated, "she's acting no more the fool than I, following orders, doing as she's told."

"By you, no less?" Clara turned to him with a suspicious glare.

"No ma'am," Lydia smoothly answered, "I was in the sitting room with Jonathon when the steward arrived."

"And just what were you two doing?" Their eyes fleetingly met over Clara's head.

"We were discussing what we thought might have happened to the ship—"

"Sharing a nightcap." Jonathon interjected with a smile, Lydia's eyes darting to him in surprise, noting the heavy coat slung over his arm.

"You two were drinking? Together? Unsupervised?" Clara's face tightened in angry lines. "Under my roof?"

"Well mother, it's not really your roof, is it?" Jonathon's tone held angry, annoyed notes. "Hence why we will follow the captain's orders. Father is currently dressing and I suggest you do the same before I drag you topside as you are. We were told to hurry after all."

"I refuse to let the child go out into the cold." Clara clung harder to Emily, who sat confused, wide-eyed. "She and I can wait here."

"Clara dear, don't be absurd," Charles' reasoned voice reached their ears as he appeared in the doorway behind Jonathon, "everyone in the corridor is already making their way up and we don't want to be the last."

"Oh my goodness….I'm not dressed…but my hair…" Emily was instantly forgotten as Clara bustled from the bedroom back to her own. Lydia let go a sigh, forcing herself into the present, desperately trying not to think about Will.

"Lydia, where's mumma going?" Emily turned with confused, sad eyes.

"She's getting changed. We need to go up on deck, come on. You'll see her soon." She draped the small robe over Emily's shoulders, guiding it down her small arms.

"But it's nighttime, I'm sleepy."

"Come on Em," Jonathon stepped into the room, holding out his coat to Lydia, "you can sleep on my shoulder." Lydia took his coat, dropping Emily's on top as the child sleepily wrapped her arms around her brother's neck. She was almost too big to comfortably carry, but he made it look effortless as he lifted her from the bed, her body wrapping around his torso. Lydia followed them out, turning off the light, grabbing her own coat.

The protests of Mrs. Hays sounded from their bedroom, accented with the calming words of Mr. Hays and the fussing acknowledgements of Ms. Ann, who arrived from her second class room.

"Mother, Lydia and I are taking Emily up." Jonathon called.

"Absolutely not!" Came the shrill distressed response. "You will wait for me." Lydia shrugged into her long wool coat, grabbing three lifebelts from the stack, wondering if she would be missed were she to duck off and find Will. She was aching to see him, hear his voice, but doubted she could even get close to him.

"Is my darling ready? Is she warm—oh poor thing." Clara returned to the sitting room, her face full of pity, looking much more put-together in a plain dress, her hair loosely pinned under a fashionable warm hat to match her coat.

"I have her coat ma'am." Lydia nodded to arm laden with Emily and Jonathon's coat.

"The poor thing. This is absolutely inexcusable. Someone will hear about this." Mrs. Hays charged through the sitting room and out into the hallway with Ann close on her heels, the rest following. Shifting coats, Lydia pulled the stateroom door closed, fighting to ignore the constriction in her chest, the constant voice screaming for her to find the one man she wanted.

Relatively quickly and not necessarily quietly, they Hays family took the stairs up towards the first class entrance, passing small groups of other first class passengers all in various states of dress and undress.

"You, you there," Mr. Hays's commanding voice echoed off the tile and glass dome of the grand entrance as he grabbed a terrified steward, "my wife and I demand to know what this is all about."

"Everything is being sorted out on deck sir," the steward visibly trembled, "they're putting the women and children off in boats. I-I don't know anymore. The first boat got away several minutes go. Just go out on deck, please, everything…will be sorted out there. And do put on a lifebelt, please." The lifebelts felt like rocks in her hands at the steward's words, the already present knots in her stomach tightening, suddenly wishing for her flask.

"On deck? Off in boats?" Mrs. Hays repeated the words, horrified. "Are they mad? What of the child?" She looked to Charles with absolute shock.

"See here young mean, be reasonable. You can't expect me to willingly put my wife and child in a boat and send them out in the blackened cold? What's wrong the ship?"

"I-I don't know sir." The steward pleaded. "All I know is everything is being sorted out on deck."

"Some help you are," Mr. Hays grumbled, "very well. Come along Clara." Mrs. Hays reached for his arm as they brushed past the steward who stood still visibly trembling. Lydia fought to keep her breathing even, to keep it together. _Women and children off in boats_. The words rang in her head like incessant alarms, increasing her need to find Will, needing to hear from him just what she should do.

Blankly she followed behind the Hayses as they mounted the Grand Staircase, memories flooding her mind of the all her meetings with Will that started right on these steps. Turning to see his handsome face, sharp eyes, warm smile and those damnable gloves he always wore. Tears threatened her eyes as she thought back, biting her lip as they reached the top landing, a bitterly cold draft blowing around them.

"Surely they're mad." Charles commented as they approached the door, nearing the throng of people not quite willing to go outside.

"We need answers, Charles," Clara protested as they pushed through the yielding crowd out into the frigid night air. Crewmen were stationed at the lifeboat davits, assisting people aboard, officers calling out for more women and children over the roar of venting steam. Lydia instantly fixed her eyes to each man in uniform, growing more desperate and praying one of them was Will, but struggled to see around all the hats and random passengers.

The group in front of her, compromised only on men she noticed, turned and headed back inside, affording her a clear view of the partially loaded boat in front of her. The officer in charge turned to face her, her eyes instantly settling to the sharp blue of her love. She drew a shaky breath, feeling tears from earlier threaten to surface, as a pained, guilty look crossed his face. What she wouldn't give to wrap him in her arms and stroke his cares away.

"Miss Marsden, your cooperation, please." Murdoch's voice was all calm business as she stepped towards him, the Hayses forgotten.

"Cooperation?" She asked, looking between him and the nearly full boat. "Are you really evacuating people off the ship? On this freezing night?"

"Captain's orders. If you and your companions would be so kind as to step this way?" She met his eyes, quietly pleading, frustration evident in their usually sure blue depths.

"Will, what happened? I felt…I don't know what I felt." His head fell at the begging honesty in her eyes, taking a step closer before steeling himself to look at her.

"The ship's hit a berg. I know she's badly damaged, but I don't know much more than that. Our orders are women and children off first, and that would most certainly be you." She watched his eyes fleet from hers to something over her shoulder, turning to see Jonathon close, his face blank and ashen.

"Will she sink?" Murdoch swallowed heavily on Jonathon's words, his face tortured as if debating something.

"They say she will." He finally said, Lydia's heart stopping.

"How soon?" Jonathon implored, tone anxious as Murdoch turned to gaze down deck towards the bridge.

"It appears to be slow enough. We might just make it until help arrives…use the lifeboats to ferry passengers to safety." That's when Lydia actually focused on the deck beneath her feet, registering the slight tilt and the correction in her stance. She followed Murdoch's gaze, mouth drying as she noticed the bow of the ship low in the water, poised for a dive in the freezing water.

"Then why the boats now?" She asked nervously, her voice small. "If there's time?"

"Its protocol, captain's orders," she glanced to the other officers on Will's words, noting the lack of urgency in their movements, the passengers milling about almost unconcernedly. "Please Lydia…" She turned back to him at his soft, choked use of her name, wanting only to hold him and be held, Jonathon and everyone be damned.

"Yes Will, I'll go," she offered a nervous, sad smile, heaving a sigh before looking to Jonathon, "Emily goes with me." She took Emily's coat, draping it over her shoulders, her sleepy protests just barely audible over the venting steam and officer's calls.

"Jonathon, there you are," Charles' voice cut through the din, face set in annoyance, "don't you dare wander off with Emily again. You nearly gave your mother a fright."

"Tell mother and Ann to fasten up their coats," Jonathon ignored his father's reprimand, continuing to assist Emily into her coat sleeves, "they're accompanying Emily and Lydia in this lifeboat."

"Absolutely not with the temperatures."

"Sir, your cooperation in assisting the ladies would be most appreciated so we can get this boat on its way." Murdoch's calm, professional voice bore none its earlier pain as he leveled the elder, slightly taller Hays man with a determined look.

"Sailor, how dare you tell me my business?" Charles snapped.

"I refuse to go," Mrs. Hays interjected, glaring at Jonathon. "And I forbid Emily to go."

"I'm not sure it's your choice, mother," Jonathon stepped closer to the boat, clarity coming to Emily's face, a faint 'I want mumma' reaching Lydia's ears.

"Emily and I are going, Mrs. Hays, if only to grant Mr. Murdoch the cooperation other passengers are so denying him." She caught Murdoch's grateful smile in the corner of her eye as she watched Mrs. Hays barge out from behind her husband.

"I will not be parted from Emily!" It sounded as if tears threatened her voice, but her face was pure anger.

"Then I suggest you get in the lifeboat mother." Jonathon towered over his mother, almost daring her to challenge him.

"You—both of you—and you, sailor," Clara's enraged, shocked glare darted between her son, the governess and Murdoch, "will all answer for this when we reach New York."

"I have no doubt ma'am," Murdoch's voice held a note of dread as he raised a hand out for assistance, "please watch your step." Awkwardly, Clara reached for his hand to help her ease aboard the lifeboat as it swung in its davits. Lydia let go a breath, unable to believe they had actually convinced Mrs. Hays to go aboard.

"Lydia," the stark disappointment in Ms. Ann's voice jarred her attention, "there was a time I would have defended you to remain in the Hayses employ, but after this, do not expect my support ever again." Lydia stared back in surprise, unable to believe any of this was real—the slanted deck, the Hayses' absurdity, the lifeboat to separate her from Will. Was this just some nightmare? The bitter cold biting at her face and bare hands told her otherwise as she numbly watched Emily move into the boat, instantly clinging to her mother, Clara whispering soothing words.

"You're the last." Jonathon's words cut through the storm in her mind, eyes locking to his, distantly hearing Charles Hays saying goodbyes to his wife.

"Thank you for your help. And the drink earlier," her cheeks flamed on top of their rosiness from the cold, remembering their unfinished conversation, shared kiss, "you might want this." She held out his coat as he gladly shrugged it on, reaching in his dinner jacket pocket.

"Here, take this," he produced his silver flask, "it will help you stay warm." He pushed it into her hand, her cold fingers wrapping around the warm metal.

"What about you? Won't you need it?" A wicked smile came to his face.

"Why I'm about to go raid the smoking room bar. All the scotch and whiskey a man can drink." A smile came to her face, accented by a soft laugh.

"You really are a rogue."

"And you really are quite a sharp woman, Lydia Marsden. Whatever happens, it will be easier knowing you're safe—all of you. And who knows what we could have had between us. We never really had a chance." He raised his hands to her face, stepping forward for a solid, crushing kiss, her lips parting in a surprised gasp, feeling his tongue dart in for a taste before retreating. "I hope Murdoch makes it out to you." Her eyes widened in surprise as he turned from her. "Sorry sir," he offered a suspicious looking Murdoch a sad smile, "I know she's yours, but it might have been my last chance and I couldn't let it go." He turned from the officer to his father, offering a silent nod before disappearing through the crowd.

Lydia clasped the flask tight, watching him go, almost daring to wonder if she would see him again despite his farewell. Surely things weren't that bleak. She looked to Will with a sad, embarrassed smile, slipping the flask in her coat pocket, watching him walk over.

"I wish you didn't have to go, but you must, and quickly. We need to move on to the next boat."

"Be careful won't you?" Her eyes held volumes of worry she somehow managed to keep from her voice, watching him smile warmly.

"Have no fear. I shall see you soon," he took her left hand in his, running a gloved finger over her ring bandage, pulling her towards the boat, "the world awaits us once we arrive in New York." Her smile filled out, alive with the hope for a future with him as his wife, as mother of his children. "Step carefully now." Gripping his hand tighter, she stepped off the gunwale down into the wobbly boat, reaching out a steadying hand as she dropped to sit beside Ann. With a final smile and squeeze to her hand, he let go, turning back to the other passengers, his voice carrying loudly to ask for more women and children.

"You little harlot," Clara hissed, anger on her words, "kissing my son like that—in public no less. How will I ever answer for that? And then making eyes at that sailor." Lydia bowed her head, reigning in every instinct to haul off and slap her employer.

"You couldn't be more wrong ma'am," Lydia turned her head in its bowed position, fighting not to shake from seething frustration, "Jonathon kissed me, and not for the first time I might add. He apologized for it afterwards, calling it what it was—the kiss of goodbye. And the so-called 'sailor' you keep demeaning, just happens to be the ships' first officer, and as such, deserves your respect."

"Titles aren't important Lydia," Clara said dismissively, "he's still just a sailor."

"And lower away! Both sides together. Steady, men!" Murdoch's voice sounded overhead as the boat started jerking and creaking, slowly dropping down the length of the hull. Lydia's head instantly shot up, eyes locking to his face as his body slowly disappeared behind the ship. She ran her eyes over every feature, the stern lines in his brow, the sharpness of his crystalline eyes, his lips in a tight, stressed line.

The boat was almost too low to see his face yet still he hadn't looked to her once, making her desperate for eye contact. He was the picture of stressed determination, bound by his duty and moral code, so it didn't surprise her he wasn't thinking of her even though it hurt. The hull blocked his chin and mouth, sharp blue eyes finally landing to hers before disappearing, leaving only the black of the hull behind. She didn't even register the longing whimper in her throat, heart tightening in her chest, unable to shake the overwhelming feeling she would never see him again despite his reassuring words.

"Lydia, stop making such a scene," Clara's voice cut through her raging thoughts, as the boat settled in the water "he's just a man. You don't even know him."

"Actually ma'am, Lydia has been meeting with the officer, Murdoch, daily since we boarded." Lydia's eyes widened over Ann's words as Clara fixed her with a disgusted glare.

"Meeting daily with that man?" Clara sneered, struggling to keep her voice low in the almost full boat. "So I was right—you play my son for his affections, then leave him for a sailor." Lydia's stomach, already knotted from nerves, churned from the rocking of the small boat in the waves.

"I never played your son for anything." Lydia's voice was distance as she glanced back to the ship, the severe tilt of the bow more pronounced at a distance. At this rate, _Titanic_ would surely go down by the head, and the only question was how long. How long did Will and Jonathon really have? She blanched at the thought that she cared about Jonathon chances so much. Did she really put him in the same category as Will?

"Then what were you going on about—he kissed you and not for the first time?" Clara looked at her pointedly.

"It was earlier this evening—"

"When you were drinking together?" Lydia suddenly remembered the weight of the flask in her pocket.

"Yes ma'am. I was waiting up to talk to him, and we shared a drink."

"I cannot believe you. And in my employment. You know alcohol will not be tolerated and if I have—." Clara abruptly stopped, mouth agape as Lydia fished Jonathon's flask from her pocket, taking a welcome drink. The warmth from the whiskey flooded her insides, her eyes dropping closed, feeling a wave of exhaustion overtake her. She didn't even have a clue as to the hour. Midnight? 1 am? "Put that away before someone sees!" Lydia put the flask to her lips for another drink, glancing around to the other women in the boat, who were all watching the ship wide-eyed.

"No one is watching," Lydia simply said, capping the flask, "no one cares. Something bigger is going on right before us, so no one cares about trivial things." Lydia pocketed the flask, training her eyes to the ship. Her heart clinched tighter at the advanced slope of the ship, the top of the forecastle dipping beneath the black waves. Everything from yesterday's meeting with Will around the massive capstans, rushed back to her, longing to see his face again.

"Lydia!" She instantly turned at the rushed hiss of her name. "Do not ignore me again child," Clara scolded, "you are in for a stern reprimand when we return—drinking, cavorting with a sailor—you know their type—unclean, unholy bunch of wayfarers. I want it understood you are not to see that man again, nor are you to be in possession of alcohol should you wish to remain in my employ.

"How can you still care about such things?" Lydia's voice held a sad note, as she turned back to the ship. "How are you not worried sick about Charles? Or Jonathon?" Surprisingly her words seemed to hit home as Clara's eyes finally fixed to the ship, realization dawning that maybe something serious was happening.

How long had they been off the ship? The calm order of their departure seemed replaced now by growing panic as the ship's angle increased. Was Will right? Would the ship last long enough for help to come? Would he indeed see her soon?

"Lydia, are we understood?" Clara reiterated, shifting her focus back to her unruly governess. Lydia looked to her employer uneasily, the uncertainty of the situation near maddening.

"I don't know, ma'am…" Lydia answered distantly, turning instantly back to the ship, wanting only some reassurance that everything would be alright, wanting only Will's arms safe around her.

A tear escaped unbidden as the red anti-fouling paint on the stern became visible, the faint sounds of gunfire echoing in the night._ Titanic_ just had to hold out, there were simply too many people on board.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Clara repeated, stunned, doing her best to keep her voice soft.

"I don't know…I love him, I have to…" She didn't know what she had to do, but watching the scene before her—cables snapping and pinging in the water like gunfire, deck chairs floating away, distant screams—knowing Murdoch was aboard, was absolutely maddening. Was she really as powerless as she felt to help him? Suddenly the ship screamed and her heart stopped.

A gut-wrenching, groaning whine split the night, drowning out everything. Steel gave and snapped, crunching and breaking, the whole body of the ship bowing up in a v-shape before slamming back into the water. Lydia's mouth fell open as the ship broke in half, the majestic funnels snapping like toothpicks. The ship's electricity gave out, plunging them into darkness, and she just barely made out the bow disappearing beneath the waves. In only a matter of terrifying, endless minutes, the stern had followed its other half, leaving a soul piercing eerie calm combined with screams of those in the freezing water.

Panic seized Lydia after the initial shock. Will was out there somewhere. And Jonathon, Mr. Hays…every man she ever known or loved was one of the voices in the cacophony pleading for help, for the saviors they knew lingered in the darkness in half empty boats. Lydia turned tear-rimmed heavy eyes to Clara, just making out the look of absolute shock on her employer's face in the faint star light.

"Can…we have to go back." Lydia said quietly. "Everyone we love is out there."

"Charles, Jonathon…my boys…." Clara's hand rose to her face as she tried to hide her tears, thinking on her husband and son.

"Mommy, where's daddy?" Emily's tears started upon seeing her mother's and having her question go unanswered. Numbly, Lydia watched Clara's hold tighten as Emily clung to her, almost jealous they each had someone to cling to at this moment. The only person she wanted to hold was out there...probably dying, but maybe living. Had he managed to take a lifeboat to safety?

Discussion ensued in their boat about going back for survivors. Lydia's heart broke to find herself in the minority of those willing to risk the safety of their boat at the chance of rescuing a few. When the vote passed to stay put, Lydia's tears ran free, doubling over and hugging her knees to keep from retching.

What was the point? She'd known happiness—true happiness—for the first time since her parents' death and it was now so instantly taken from her. Was she not allowed to have happiness? Is that was this proved? Every time she found it, it was always brutally taken away. Would she ever be able to hold onto something she actually wanted?

"Do you really love him Lydia? That officer…what was his name?" Clara's voice sounded softly in the darkness, strained with hurt, making Lydia raise her head.

"William. Will Murdoch," Lydia forced herself to say, swallowing hard on the words, "and yes, I have grown to love him very much."

"I did love Charles, despite what everyone thought," Clara said longingly, "everyone assumed it was a marriage of convenience—and it most certainly was—but that man captured my heart as none other had."

"Until four days ago, I wouldn't have known what you were talking about," Lydia admitted, "but I was going to quit my employ with you upon arrival in New York, wed William and travel the world with him as officer and stewardess."

"You stupid girl," Clara admonished, "that would have been a life of hardship and squalid conditions. How would you ever hope to raise a family with that man?"

"It wouldn't have been ideal and I'm sure things would have changed when we had children," a fresh wave of tears threatened her red, puffy eyes as she thought about having Will's children, "but the dream was so new, so fresh…and now I'll never know what could have come of it."

"Sometimes its better that way," Clara remarked dryly, "reality has a way of never living up to dreams."

"But I wasn't ready to let him go." Lydia turned back to glance at the spot where the ship had once floated, the distant screams of the dying souls growing continually quieter, leaving a morbid silence in their wake.

The cold had long pierced through her thick coat and layers of clothing, numbing her fingers and toes well past the point of feeling. Her movements were sluggish and slow, exhaustion tugging at the corners of her mind, her thoughts focused solely on her love and wondering if there was even a prayer of a chance he was still alive. And when, if any, help would arrive.


	9. Monday April 15th

"_CARPATHIA REACHED TITANIC POSITION AT DAYBREAK._

_FOUND BOATS AND WRECKAGE ONLY. TITANIC FOUNDERED_

_ABOUT 2.20 AM IN 41.16 N. 50.14 W. ALL HER BOATS_

_ACCOUNTED FOR. ABOUT 675 SOULS SAVES. LEYLAND LINE _

_SS CALIFORNIAN REMAINING AND SEARCHING POSITION OF _

_DISASTER. CARPATHIA RETURNING TO NEW YORK WITH _

_SURVIVORS. PLEASE INFORM CUNARD. HADDOCK." –Herbert J. Haddock, Captain of _Olympic_ to White Star office in New York _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: Monday, April 15<strong>**th**

—8:40 am—

_Cold. Numbing, paining cold. Sleep. Frustrated sleep. Glorious sleep. _

_Will. Will. Will. Will._

The words jumbled together in her grief-stricken, shocked mind. The dark, seemingly endless hours of night yielded into corals and purples of dawn, giving no hint of the destruction that had so recently happened.

The _Carpathia_ had come and seen to the rescue of the survivors, all of them now moving about her decks in their own numb stupors, dealing with the shock as best they could. Lydia had stared blankly after Clara and Ann as they whisked Emily down below decks to cots and warmth, not bothering to follow.

By now, Lydia had read and reread the note dozens of times, never discerning more from the simple words or finding comfort. She didn't even remember having it on her person until an hour or so ago, and her heart had broken all over again when she read over his succinctly scribed words.

"_And I do—I choose you above all others to share in my days."_

From what she'd discerned, Will wasn't onboard. Though it wasn't exactly easy to locate people around the _Carpathia's_ crowded decks and cabins, she knew he would have sought her out by now if he were still alive. She sniffled and blinked hard as she leaned against the railing, glancing out over the calm sea.

Such peace and such destruction. The surrounding waters gave no indication they knew what had happened several hours back, the loss of the life that lingered there. The calm seas now were almost a cruel joke.

She moved her hand, finally steeled to drop Murdoch's note in the icy water below. She stared at it in her hand, fighting back tears, heaving a sigh before retracting her hand, desperately clinging to the small piece of paper. She knew she should toss it in the sea, bury it with him and forget she ever loved the man. She had her job to think about, the possibility Clara would fire her upon arrival in New York for all that she'd confessed about her shipboard activities. But she hadn't held William Murdoch for near as long as she wanted to just discard him so readily.

Again her eyes poured over the words, biting her lip to keep back tears.

"Miss Marsden?" She recognized the voice, turning with a quick sniffle to see the haggard form of Charles Lightoller. "Miss Marsden, you should really go below. It's much warmer."

"Thank you sir, but I'm alright. My thoughts would be right here no matter where I was."

"May I bring you anything then? A blanket, something warm to drink?" He couldn't believe how miserable she looked. Surely he hadn't lost someone so close to her as a servant traveling with her employers?

"No, thank you," she swallowed hard, composing herself, "do you happen to know…by chance—," her words choked in her throat, not wanting the answer, "…if Mr. Murdoch is aboard?" She watched Lightoller's face fall sullen, unable to hold back her silent tears.

"I am deeply saddened to say he is not. The last I saw of him, he was trying to free Collapsible Lifeboat A…after that, I—." Lightoller's throat tightened, unable to finish his words, watching the woman's composure shatter. Was she really so broken up about Will's death?

"I…oh, forgive me please," her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, wishing she weren't a sobbing mess in front of the officer, "I…I already knew he didn't survive, but to hear it said…just makes it real." Lightoller watched her hand curl tighter around a slip of paper, his heart aching for this woman.

"I didn't realize you and Will had grown so close, Miss Marsden. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, and for his loss."

"Wasn't he your friend?" Her red-rimmed eyes locked to his and he fought to swallow the sudden lump in his throat, feeling his own composure threatened.

"Yes, he was a very close friend." The raw note on his voice tugged at her heart.

"Then yes, Will and I had grown very close…I—we—," she froze, slowly producing the note in her hand, "this says it better than I currently am able." Curiously he took the proffered note, eyes widening in both shock and utter heartache as he read the intimate, personal words.

"Bloody hell…." He breathed quietly, trying to fathom his friend with his unflinching professionalism carrying on in such a manner. A secret love affair in such a high profile position as his would have meant instant discharge had he been discovered. Of all the officers Lightoller had ever served with, Murdoch was last on his list to break the rules in such a manner. Yet here was written proof in his hand and a broken woman in front of him, both proving the love of the former first officer.

"That's one way to say it…," she sniffed quietly, "we had talked of marrying sometime after arrival in New York; both serving on ships together and sailing the world's oceans."

"But after only a few days? You barely knew each other."

"It took us both by surprise—so startling and wonderful, yet terrifying and amazing. We could have done anything…," she shook her head, biting her lips as tears escaped her eyes, "but God had other plans and here we are. I knew him well enough Charles to know I loved him…knew him as a wife knows her husband." Charles' eyes widened at the implication of her words, not daring to ask that question. Never mind conducting an emotional affair with a passenger, but a physical one?

He handed the note back to Lydia, a newfound respect for his friend overtaking him. His friend had been willing to risk everything to love this woman in every way, and Charles knew the feeling for his own wife. She clutched the note tight, clinging to it as if it were a lifeline, her last connection to the man, eyes welling up all over again.

"How did it happen, Charles?" She suddenly asked. "I saw it all…the hull, the bottom, the steel framing. She was more than strong enough to withstand such a blow."

"So they said, miss," Lightoller said quietly, absently, "I saw it myself as well—she was the finest ship ever built. But everything manmade has faults, even something they claim is nearly unsinkable. Personally, it seemed a challenge to the fates—to say something is unsinkable is challenging the elements. I believe there are forces above and below the earth at work here, and in some sickeningly cruel joke, our challenge was answered."

"I just want to know what happened to kill the man I love." Fresh tears threatened on her words, biting her lip with a shake of her head, the uncertainty maddening.

"We may never know Miss Marsden. It's done, it's over." Charles's heart broke as he watched her face set in frustrated lines beneath her grief.

Able to do what his lost friend could not, Lightoller reached forward, pulling the young woman in to him, offering her his shoulder, not caring who was looking. She fell against him unashamedly, unable to hold back now free falling tears. He wrapped his arms around her reassuringly, wishing he knew some great words of comfort, or that he had some even for himself. Losing so many friends in one night was heartbreaking, and he couldn't imagine how it felt for her. He sniffed quietly, swallowing hard to hold back tears.

"Excuse me sir," a small, timid voice broke his thoughts, causing him to turn his head and regard the man in uniform bearing a clipboard, "I'm sorry to interrupt sir, but may I have your name please?"

"Lightoller, Charles. Second Officer." He said softly, still holding Lydia close, her face buried in the wool of his greatcoat.

"Right, second officer. And the lady, sir?" The man asked softy, still unsure if he were interrupting a private moment. "Your…wife?"

"No…," Lightoller stopped suddenly, quickly glancing down at her, "no, the lady's name is Murdoch. Mrs. William McMaster." She froze in his arms, not sure if she heard him correctly.

"He was your first officer…was he not?" The man asked, glancing through his notes.

"He was indeed."

"And his wife?" The man questioned curiously.

"They married on ship. Both the Captain and Chaplin perished in the sinking as did any documentation." Lydia glanced up at Lightoller, sniffing to hold back more tears.

"And were you present sir?"

"I witnessed, yes."

"Is this true ma'am?" The man met her red rimmed eyes as she continued to lean against the second officer.

"He didn't have a way to get me a ring, so he gave me this." She pulled her left arm up, revealing the scrap of bandage tied around her left ring finger. The other man looked at it, not believing what he was seeing.

"I….I'm sorry for your loss." The man, still seemingly in shock, hastily scribbled the name down, mumbling his thanks with a quick nod before moving away. Lydia turned her head, still against Lightoller's shoulder, feeling the lingering salt residue against her cheek, looking out over the peaceful waves, a dangerous beauty.

"Why did you lie for me, sir? You have no proof. There's no possible way it can stand when we arrive in New York."

"Will was a close friend, and a damned fine officer. Ada's death sorely tore him up, and only in the last few days has that same contentment he knew with her returned to his demeanor. I asked him about you after hearing of the knot tying challenge from Wilde, you know. And to anyone who knew him well, his love was in his words for you. Carefully guarded, albeit, never would it have blown your cover, but I was certainly happy for him."

"I never once doubted his heart, and your words do help." She sniffed softly, letting go a sigh. "He told me he never got to tell his wife a final goodbye, so I suppose it's fitting I never did either."

"The direness of the situation was not stressed as it should have been, but we had our orders and the majority of passengers remained unconcerned until her final moments."

"His last words were 'I shall see you shortly. Have no fear.' Were you with him…at the end? Do you suppose he drowned quickly? Froze slowly?" Her voice threatened to break.

"No, no, no," Lightoller scolded, stepping back to attempt to look her in her downtrodden eyes, "you cannot dwell on his final hours. It will only do disservice to his memory, and he was too good a man for that. Instead, you have to think of the better times—everything only the two of you shared in your stolen moments." He watched a smile twitch at the corner of her lips, slowly spreading to reveal her love for his lost friend.

"It hurts to think I'll never have it again though." He loosed his hold, clasping her arms in a supportive hold as her smile weakly lingered.

"Take heart, my dear," he offered a smile to match hers, "today we are broken, but time will heal us all."

"I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Lightoller…for everything."

"My pleasure. We will be in touch in New York if not sooner. I cannot promise you a victory, but I promise to do all I can to see you recognized as Will's wife. Your heartache is no less genuine than any other widow aboard. He died for his duty when he didn't have to."

"But somehow, I don't think he would have wanted it any other way." A fond smile crossed Lightoller's worn face as he thought on his friend's penchant for rules and professionalism.

"I'm quite inclined to agree." They shared a soft laugh and sad smile. "You should really go below and get some rest, Miss Marsden."

"You should as well, sir. But I think I might," she nodded shortly, her heart lighter with a flicker of hope amongst her grief, "I think I just might."

xxx

**Epilogue: Tuesday, May 21****st****, 1918 **

"_An editorial cartoon depicted the god Neptune sending lightning bolts out of his head to three ships on the horizon, while holding _Titanic_ up, speared on the tines of his trident. The caption was _A SACRIFICE TO CARELESSNESS AND GREED." _–New York American, a William Randolph Hearst newspaper _

—_10:37 am—_

"Sir, the type of anchor does depend on your seabed. Whether its sand, silt, mud—"

"I have always used a mushroom anchor, no matter the seabed, and I refuse to let you tell me otherwise." She kept her smile in place as the old man glared at her, face scrunched in offense.

"Excuse me sir?" A pleasant faced man equal in age to the woman, walked over with a gentle smile, eliciting a smile from the woman. "Is there a problem? Otherwise, I would respectfully ask you to watch your tone regarding my wife."

"Your wife, is she?" The old man snarled. "Then you tell her to mind her place and give me what I ask for."

"He came in asking for a mushroom anchor, Robert," Lydia started calmly, "I proceeded to ask him questions about the areas he was boating and what type of seabed he anchored in. I never outright refused to sell him an anchor and he never asked to see what we have available."

"Sir, my wife is merely offering advice for you to select the best type for your application, and she did not mean to deter you from purchasing whatever you wish. She can show you our stock and ring you up."

"Her? Why not you, sir?" The man eyed Robert curiously. "Are you not the Murdoch in 'Murdoch Mercantile?'"

"No sir," a small, even proud smile crossed Robert's face as his hand rose to Lydia's shoulder, "the store was my wife's before we married when her last name was Murdoch." She flushed under Robert's words, quickly turning to the older man, who was still glaring between them.

"If you'll follow me, sir? I think we have just what you're looking for." Lydia held out an arm for the man to follow her, hearing his footsteps on the wood floor behind her.

"That still ain't right," the man said softly, "women running businesses by themselves. However does your husband allow it?"

"I was a widow when I opened this shop sir, and Robert came along as a customer two years later and never left. I know my first husband would never have objected, and Robert supports me in every endeavor." She paused at a shelf of anchors ranging in types and sizes, the anchors increasing in weight towards the bottom of the shelf. "Here you are, sir. Mushroom anchors of all reasonable size."

"A widow almost makes it even worse." The old man grumbled, stepping forward with squinty eyes to read the ratings on the anchor stems.

"Please do not discount the death my first husband so readily, sir. He died doing his duty as an officer on the _Titanic_ to save all he could, myself included." The man's eyes momentarily widened before his scowl returned.

"Bah, the _Titanic_," the man scoffed with a shake of his head, pausing over an anchor, "now that was a cursed ship, she was. Got what she deserved if you ask me."

"And all the people who died sir?" Her tone was calm and controlled, her years of being a servant and now business woman putting her firmly in control of her gut-reaction to customers like him.

"It was just pure waste," the man having made his selection, pulled an anchor from the shelf, "all those people didn't need to die, but they did. It was a cursed ship with no proper christening."

"But sir, none of the White Star ships are christened, yet they still float and go on countless Atlantic runs." She started for the counter, the man following in step.

"She was the biggest, ain't she? The best, the most luxurious? Don't let it be said God don't strike down the prideful and greedy."

"If you had known her sir, even you would have been unable to deny her a true marvel of our modern age."

"Bah!" The old man sneered as she wrung him up, awkwardly handing over money. She marveled at how few men were still so unwilling to approve of a woman in business—let alone, in the business of selling naval and marine supplies.

All thanks to the testimony of Charles Lightoller, the White Star Line awarded full spousal compensation to Lydia Marsden Murdoch upon arrival in New York for the death of her husband in performing his duties. She had lingered in the recently-widowed Clara Hays' employ without telling her a single detail while she made arrangements to buy a building near the Boston harbor and secure tickets for travel. Clara's eyes nearly bugged out of her head the day Lydia tendered her resignation and revealed all the events that had transpired since arriving stateside.

She didn't realize what a central location she had procured until she opened her doors for business and found that even though prejudices were high against women (and English at that) in such a role, men were still in need of the supplies she offered. Gradually she built a reputation and clientele who spread word that Murdoch Mercantile offered a wide supply of naval and marine equipment, and surprisingly, the woman had some knowledge to match.

Her English accent had started to fade, but it still never failed to raise eyebrows for new customers. And then Robert Gillen walked through her door—sweet, sweet Robert who had instantly been drawn in by her eyes and strength of will. He had come to her store every day after that first meeting, if only to visit or just catch a glimpse of her if she was helping another customer. For the first time in years, Lydia had laughed lightheartedly and smiled without restraint, finding her heart opening for the first time since Will's death. It was two years later Robert asked for her hand, and Lydia stopped looking back.

The old man finished up with hardly a word, mumbling some indistinguishable response as Lydia thanked him and wished a good day. Robert came out of the backroom a moment later, approaching his wife with a curious smile.

"Did everything go alright?"

"Just fine," she turned to meet his smile, "he just thought I was trying to tell him his business, rather than just offering general advice."

"Well he appears to be an old man set in his ways, love," Robert enclosed her in loose hug, feeling her return the hold, "he's not used to women in control."

"I'm so glad you don't mind." She snuggled against him, listening to his heart beat.

"You were a refreshing change from most other women I had met. I walked in and knew from the moment I saw your eyes and smile, I was yours." He tightened his hold, dropping a kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry he spoke so poorly of your widowed status. No woman should be degraded for that."

"Thank you Robert," she sighed lightly against him, "and for coming to my defense earlier. It tends to put the more crotchety men at ease to know you're here."

"It puts me at ease being here. I don't trust some of these men as far as I can throw them." Lydia smiled, resting her head to his shoulder.

"Fortunately only one has ever tried to rough me up."

"Yes, and it earned him a swift punch in the jaw." Robert wasn't overly muscular, but his stint with the navy had taught him how to use his body for defense.

"My brave and gallant husband." She met his eyes with a smile before leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"Fiancé at the time, if I remember correctly."

"Were we just engaged at the time? I don't rightly remember."

"I think we were just engaged, and I had come by to bring your flowers for the day."

"And you still haven't stopped." Her eyes darted to the vase of wild azaleas on the front counter. "You know, at first I couldn't believe you spent money every day on flowers for me. But when you confessed to your father owning a flower shop, I thought you such a wicked charmer."

"But you married me anyway."

"I did indeed, and I wouldn't change a thing." Robert's hug tightened as she settled more firmly into his embrace.

William Murdoch was no Robert Gillen, but he had said it best: as long as there is love, there is hope. She freely admitted to still loving Will and hoped to again see him one day. But equally strong was her love for Robert, and the hope that the day of their parting was a lifetime away.

_the end _

xxx

Thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed and most of all, enjoyed! _Titanic _has always been something I longed to write about, and I apologize for the slow updates over time, but life happens and I had to make sure I was (mostly) satisfied (I do recognize there is always room for improvement).

Writing is such a treat, and it's encouraging to know one's work is enjoyed. I can't put a publish date to these, but below is a sneak peek of stories currently under construction that I am making an effort to finish & hopefully share soon.

Thanks again y'all! Till next time,

MidnightBlast

_(Inception)_** Walk Away —**Funny how in the end, all one can think about is the beginning. While attending Arthur's funeral, Eames remembers the events sixty-two years ago that lead to his unending love for the Point Man. Slow building Arthur/Eames. Loose prequel/sequel to 'Reunion.'

_(Phantom of the Opera)_** Insufferable —**December 1875. Six years after the Famous Chandelier Disaster. The Opera Populaire is restored to its former glory, attracting dancers and divas in droves. It brings the return of a brokenhearted genius to his domain, and the arrival of a woman escaping the ravages of war. Will these two find a connection? Erik/OC.

_(Reservoir Dogs)_** Weathered —** A wedding ring. His wedding ring. How had everything between them gone so sour? It had been ten months since she had worn her ring. So why did Freddy reach for his? Pre-movie Freddy/OC.

_(Lie to Me_) **Closed Doors —** "If you die without knowing how much I love you, I will kill you." Just the words he wanted to hear. A look behind Gillian's closed front door the night of Episode 2.04 ("Honey") after Matheson wreaks his havoc. Cal/Gillian.


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